


By Any Other Name

by servatia83



Series: Song of the Birds [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Walkthrough Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 96,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servatia83/pseuds/servatia83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the catastrophic events in the alienage, Núria Tabris finds herself conscripted into the Grey Wardens, surrounded by humans, and forced to carry a weight on her shoulders that threatens to overwhelm her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ostagar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((The first part of The Song of the Birds was originally published back in 2010 on ff.net. Now I decided to give this a very thorough look, to make sure I don’t have an inconsistencies. There may be very minor changes to the original texts (apart from organising dialogue, which I do differently now and want to adapt), but those will be few and hard to notice.))

Sitting on a stone bridge in Ostagar, Núria tried to collect her thoughts and failed miserably. Yesterday she’d thought she was going to marry. She had been insanely happy, Soris had even noted that his bride was not so bad either, and Nelaros … He had been so handsome, and the way he had looked at her … She had always trusted that her father would find someone not only suitable but caring, and he had. Now Nelaros was dead, as well as the son of the arl of Denerim, the latter at her hands.

Everything that had happened was in a haze. Was it before or after the arl’s son had come the first time that she had given Nessa the ten silvers that would help her stay in Denerim? And even worse, had that been a mistake? But wherever they would have gone, they would be kicked around by _shemlen_.

What had happened then, she remembered vividly. How Vaughan had returned, taking four of them with him. Killing one of them before her very eyes and literally dragging Shianni off … Lively, resolute, strong Shianni. On her more than desperate attempt to escape Núria had met Soris, who had helped her unearth the other two. On the way they had found Nelaros, killed in the attempt of saving her. They had also found Shianni. She would never forget the look on her face as she lay at the feet of Vaughan. She would never forget that something was and would forever be missing in her eyes, had died at the hands of her raper.

And then there was Duncan.

She had met him a moment before all that had happened, he had offered congratulations. He had called _hahren_ Valendrian his friend, and the elder had obviously regarded the human as such. Now Duncan had … what was the word? He had saved her from the men who wanted to punish her for killing the arl’s son … She would be a Grey Warden … But to tell the truth, she felt much more relieved to be shot of the alienage than honoured.

She had also met the King. She could have strangled him for his very existence and his unawareness of what was going on under his very nose. When he asked what life was like in the alienage, she had answered, ‘I killed an arl’s son for raping my friend.’ Duncan had reminded her very patiently who she was talking to, but the King didn’t seem to mind her harshness very much. Núria would have preferred if he had hit her, then she would have been able to really hate him along with all the other _shemlen_. Although, there was _Duncan_ … And even though he definitely _was_ human, she failed to see him as such.

Slowly, she rose. She was supposed to find a man named Alistair. Before she would, however, she wanted to get a good look at this camp.

Ϡ

The first thing Núria noted after she had crossed the bridge were two tents with guards before them. She assumed one of them was the king’s. Just before she had made up her mind to talk to the guards, she saw something in the corner of her eye and turned around quickly. Her heart was racing up in her throat, and she scolded herself for that. She wasn’t some foolish little girl that scared easily! She knew how to fight, and bloody well too. As long as there were no rules limiting her creativity …

What had caught her eye, though, was not something to fight, really. They were – had to be! – mages. Slowly she approached, until a man in what she thought might be a Templar uniform stopped her and told her that the mages were not to be disturbed as their spirits were in the Fade …

Still wondering about that, she stumbled into the next person, who did not seem at all perturbed, brushed away her apologies, and introduced herself as Wynne. This woman, who appeared to be a mage too, explained to her that there was a connection between darkspawn and the Fade, the dreamworld in which spirits and demons dwelt. Núria’s head was swimming, and she decided for a more mundane conversation with the guards. She wanted to know who else needed such security.

Whenever she thought of her first day in camp at later times, she found she had learned a number of things that should have been an indicator for the immediate future. One: The second tent belonged to one Teyrn Loghain. Two, said Loghain was having quarrels with the king, who didn’t seem to like Loghain’s advice. Three, she didn’t want to cross Loghain, for something told her she might not live to see the end of that. Those facts she was pondering while she walked past an angry looking man.

‘You there! Elf! Where’s my armour? And why are you dressed so preposterously?’ Núria turned with narrowed eyes.

‘How dare you address me so, human?’ That tone had usually been Shianni’s rather than hers, but since she may have lost it over the events, someone should uphold it for her.

‘What? Oh. You’re the one who arrived with the Grey Warden.’ The man before her looked stunned. ‘P-please, forgive my rudeness, there are so many elves running about and I’ve been waiting for … it’s simply been so hectic! I’ve never thought … P-please, pardon my manners! I am … just a quartermaster, a simple man, no one special.’ Núria worked hard on not hitting the man.

‘What kind of supplies do you have?’ she asked instead, and, still trembling, he showed her the armour and weapons he had.

From that unfortunate incident, Núria moved over to a man standing beside a box and looking absolutely bored. She wondered how that was, everyone else seemed busy enough, but no one was resting, let alone bored. She approached the box and examined the lock attached to it. ‘That cause of action is inadvisable,’ the man said without deigning to look at her. His speech was drawling, and he didn’t seem to have heard of the concept of intonation.

‘And you are?’ she asked coldly.

‘I am one of the Tranquil, my friend’, he explained. Núria had half a mind of telling him that she was certainly not his friend, but he kept on talking, and she wondered how often exactly he had uttered those same words. ‘I’m of the Circle of Magi, but instead of casting spells and reading tomes, I spend my time enchanting.’ Núria had heard of enchanted weapons, but somehow she had never imagined the people doing that work were … like … that. ‘It is a time-consuming process, but invaluable. Enchantment provides the circle its wealth. Certainly, we would not get by on charity.’ His flat tone made it hard to pay attention to him. Núria had never been one to beat about the bush when she wanted to know something, so she decided to call him on it.

‘You speak very strangely. Why is that?’

‘Allow me to put it this way. Do you know why those with magical talent are feared?’ A counter-question. How great.

‘The Chantry claims magic is sinful,’ she offered.

‘Not sinful in and of itself,’ the self-proclaimed Tranquil contradicted. ‘They claim it leads to sin. And there is basis for that argument. Those with magical talent attract demons and spirits. We can be possessed easily, and thus become horrors known as abominations. Even those with minor talents attract hungry spirits. Anyone with the power may learn blood magic from these demons. Hence we are considered dangerous. This is our curse. Thus, I was made tranquil. Stripped of emotions and talent, I am no longer dangerous.’ Núria thought of the mage Wynne she had met earlier and imagined her, speaking in that weird slow manner. The thought scared her slightly.

‘I should go,’ she said and did her best not to run away head over heels.

On her almost-flight, she stumbled into the infirmary, where she met a scared man named Jory, who was also a recruit, and a man in a cage, whom she approached cautiously. ‘Heh … someone finally comes and talks to the lone prisoner? I don’t suppose you’ve come to sentence me?’ the man asked. He was wearing something that couldn’t pass as much more than a loincloth.

‘You haven’t been sentenced?’ she asked, slightly confused.

‘No, they put someone like me in a cage until someone important has time to decide what to do with me.’ There was a distinct bitterness in the man’s tone. Núria couldn’t blame him. ‘I don’t suppose you have a bit of kindness in you? All I want is food and water. They haven’t fed me since I was locked up, and I’m starving.’ Núria felt anger bubbling in her stomach, and she couldn’t even tell why.

‘Tell me why you’re in there, first,’ she said harshly.

‘I’m a deserter’, the man said miserably. ‘Or so they think. I bet there is no arguing them out of it, though – armies are funny that way.’

‘And I bet you’re as innocent as they sunrise,’ Núria snarled.

‘I wasn’t deserting, but when you catch someone sneakin’ around camp in the middle of the night, what else are you gonna think? Does it matter? All I want is a bit of food and water.’ Núria had never felt less sympathetic.

‘If you weren’t deserting, why sneak around the camp?’

‘Oh, I would have deserted eventually, just not then,’ he answered, and Núria felt her rage growing. How could anyone be so annoying? ‘I was stealing, not sneaking out of the camp. I got one of those wizards drunk and took his key. It belongs to a chest they got here, full of magical treasures. In fact, I still have it. I can’t use it from here, but I’d trade you for some food and water.’ Núria looked him up and down. They had stripped him, but missed a key?

‘They didn’t find the key when you were arrested?’ she asked.

‘I swallowed it,’ he replied, and Núria would have shut her ears to what had to follow if it hadn’t been too pathetic. ‘But … it’s … uh … come back into my possession since then, so to speak.’

‘I’ll take that,’ Núria said bluntly. She eased a dagger from its sheath.

‘What?!’ Anger was boiling inside her. The man in the cage had suddenly turned into Vaughan. ‘But … you can’t do that! Guard!’ With one quick movement Núria shut him up for good and took the key out of the man’s hand, making a mental note to leave it when she’d used it and to wash her hands very thoroughly indeed. Her heart was pumping and a mad kind of contentment filled her.

‘What?! What in Andraste’s name did you do that for?’ Apparently someone had heard the man scream. Núria couldn’t care less. ‘Just because you’re a Grey Warden doesn’t give you the right to go and kill anyone you please! Explain yourself!’

‘He spat on me. He got what he deserved,’ she lied unblushingly.

‘Well, maybe. But I wonder if someone else will disagree. You got some nerve, Grey Warden or no.’ Núria heard him muttering behind her as she left him standing there. Some of her anger had subsided. Unfortunately there were no more prisoners about.

Before she finally decided to meet that Alistair, Núria encountered the other recruit, a man named Daveth, who, like Ser Jory, seemed more than apprehensive concerning their Joining ritual. She wondered why exactly she wasn’t scared. A low whining caught her attention, and she saw a man by a kennel, trying to calm a mabari inside it. ‘Hmm. This isn’t good. I’d hate to waste such a promising member of the breed.’ Only now he registered Núria looking into the kennel. ‘Are you the new Warden? I could use some help.’ Núria raised an eyebrow.

‘Why would I help you?’ she asked with contempt. Her anger was slowly returning. Humans. Why did everyone here have to be human?

‘This beast is in the king’s service, just like you and I,’ he explained. ‘This is a mabari. Smart breed, and strong. His owner died in the last battle, and the poor hound swallowed darkspawn blood. I have medicine that might help, but I need to muzzle him first.’ He offered her the muzzle. She took it with hesitation.

‘Why do you think I could muzzle him?’ she inquired.

‘You’re a Grey Warden, or soon will be,’ the man said sagely. ‘All Wardens are immune to the darkspawn taint. The most you have to worry about is some tooth marks.’

‘Just how smart is this dog?’ Núria asked carefully.

‘Centuries ago, a mage bred them to be smart and understand what they’re told. They can remember and carry out complex orders. Most valuable dogs in the world. Trouble is, they generally imprint to one master; re-imprinting them is very difficult. But without the medicine, re-imprinting won’t be an issue. Will you help?’ Núria gazed at the dog and nodded.

‘I’ll give it a shot.’ Carefully she stepped into the kennel. The dog recoiled as she knelt before it, stretching out her hand as far as she could and waiting. Slowly, the beast inched closer, sniffing her hand. Núria took her chance and approached with the muzzle. The mabari responded with a low growl, but its stance was submissive. Carefully but firmly, she muzzled the dog. It looked thoroughly unhappy.

‘Well done! Now I can treat the dog properly – poor fellow. Come to think of it, are you heading into the wilds any time soon?’ Núria shrugged.

‘I might be. Why?’

‘There’s a particular herb I could use to increase the dog’s chances,’ the man said. ‘It’s a flower that grows in the swamps here, if I remember. If you happen across it, I could use it. It’s very distinctive: all white with a blood-red centre.’

‘Where in the wilds would I find this flower?’ Núria asked.

‘It usually grows in dead wood that collects at the edge of ground pools. There should be plenty this time of year.’ Núria told him she’d keep her eyes open and walked up a few stairs to where two men were obviously fighting over something.

‘Your glibness does you no credit,’ one, a mage it seemed by his attire, said through clenched teeth. His face was slightly flushed with rage. The man opposite him, on the other hand, faced him with an open stance and without any outward sign of anger.

‘Here I thought we were getting along so well,’ he said. ‘I was even going to name one of my children after you … the grumpy one.’ Núria decided in that instant that she liked him.

‘Enough!’ the mage said with his fists balled in fury. ‘I will speak to the woman if I must.’ With that he walked away, looking as though he’d rather hit the other man. Or curse him into oblivion, as it were.

The eyes of the other man were still resting on the retreating mage. ‘You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together,’ he said solemnly.

‘You are a very strange human,’ Núria told him coolly.

‘You’re not the first to tell me that,’ he replied, still looking rather absent. ‘Wait, we haven’t met, have we?’ Only now he looked at her, obviously shaking himself. ‘I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?’

‘Would that make your day worse?’ Núria asked with a slight smile.

‘Hardly. I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment.’ He blinked. ‘Wait, I do know who you are. You’re Duncan’s new recruit, the elf from Denerim. I should have recognised you right away, I apologise.’ Núria frowned slightly. He actually sounded excited.

‘And you must be Alistair,’ she reasoned. Alistair raised his eyebrows.

‘Did Duncan mention me?’ he asked, sounding mildly surprised. ‘Nothing bad, I hope. As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.’

‘I can’t prepare on my own?’ Núria asked. She didn’t like the prospect of having to wander around with the two oafs she had met previously for a longer time.

‘I know,’ Alistair said gently. ‘I felt the same way when I did this.’ Núria doubted that very much. ‘Unfortunately, they don’t give us much choice. You know … it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?’

‘How about you stop thinking of me as a woman?’ Núria asked a little more harshly than she had intended, but Alistair took it in stride.

‘Yes, ser!’ he saluted. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. It felt strange and wrong after all that had happened in the alienage. Alistair talked to her for a few more minutes, informing her that he had been a templar, and that this might have added to the mage’s annoyance. Núria felt she quite understood the mage after all. She knew that templars hunted and killed mages that fled their tower.

She followed Alistair to Duncan. The other two recruits were already standing next to him. ‘You found Alistair, did you?’ Duncan said. She wondered whether he had heard of the incident with the prisoner and was going to scold her. ‘Good. I’ll assume you are ready to begin preparations.’ Duncan’s brow furrowed, and Núria braced herself. ‘Assuming, of course, that you’re quite finished riling up mages, Alistair.’ Núria relaxed. If he considered this an issue, he would have given her a talking to first, if he knew.

‘What can I say?’ Alistair sighed. ‘The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army.’

‘She forced you to sass the mage, did she?’ Duncan asked with raised eyebrows. ‘We cannot afford to antagonise anyone, Alistair. We don’t need to give anyone more ammunition against us.’ Alistair looked at his feet like a boy.

‘You’re right, Duncan. I apologise.’ Núria thought that this would do more good if he said it to the mage, but kept her mouth shut for once. Duncan explained to them that they had to gather three vials of darkspawn blood, and that they were supposed to find an abandoned archive with some sealed scrolls in it. They left the camp at once, and Núria felt excitement welling up inside her. It was good to have a purpose.


	2. The Wilds

The first remarkable things they found were a dead man and one that was barely alive. The latter told them of a darkspawn assault and crawled back to their camp after Alistair had bandaged him. Ser Jory had paled with fear.

‘Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!’

Alistair shook his head, not unkindly. ‘Calm down, Ser Jory. We’ll be fine if we’re careful.’

The other man would not be soothed. ‘Those soldiers were careful, and they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There’s an entire army in this forest!’

Still patient, Alistair radiated the calm Jory so lacked. ‘There are darkspawn about, but we’re in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde.’

‘How do you know?’ Ser Jory demanded. ‘I’m not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back.’

‘You sound like a coward to me,’ Núria muttered.

Jory threw his arms in the air and turned away from them, staring into the forest. ‘I … am simply trying to stay alive. You don’t see me fleeing, do you?’

‘A bit of fear isn’t unnatural, you know.’ Alistair’s voice was light and casual, but there was something in his stance that made him seem more alert than before they had talked to the injured man. ‘Few relish meeting darkspawn up close. I know I don’t.’

‘It appears that I am the only man here,’ Núria told them coldly.

Alistair frowned at her. ‘I know _I’m_ relying on you to protect me,’ he said. He let out a long breath. ‘Know this: All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won’t take us by surprise. That’s why I’m here.’

‘You see, ser knight?’ Daveth quipped. ‘We might die, but we’ll be warned about it first.’

Ϡ

They did indeed find darkspawn. They found a number of things in the swamps that had nothing to do with Duncan’s intentions, too. Núria noted that she was usually ahead of the group. She was well aware of Alistair’s eyes on her and how he gave her appraising looks. She picked up a trail of the feared Chasind and unearthed a hideout of theirs; she discovered the testament of one Rigby and a lockbox that a woman named Jetta was supposed to inherit; she did indeed find the flowers for the mabari; she sprinkled ashes on stones and summoned a shade; they also gathered three vials of darkspawn blood, and at last, they reached the ruins where the archive they were looking for was. The box in which the scrolls were supposed to be was empty, however.

Just as Núria left the empty box alone to look at Alistair for instructions, a voice called out to them. ‘Well, well … what have we here?’ A woman was standing in the ruins, slowly approaching them, looking completely self-assured. ‘Are you a vulture, I wonder, a scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, coming to these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?’ She stood before them now, her arms crossed, sizing them all up. Her voice was strong and carrying, her speech as clear a standard as Núria had ever heard. ‘What say you, hmm? Scavenger, or intruder?’

‘Intruder?’ Núria replied. ‘And just how are these your Wilds?’

The woman gave a soft chuckle. She was beautiful, very much so. She had dark hair, a very feminine face, and an air of fearlessness. ‘Because I know them as only one who owns them could. Can you claim the same? I have watched your progress for some time. “Where do they go,” I wondered, “why are they here?”’

Alistair’s hand touched Núria’s arm. ‘Don’t answer her,’ he told her. ‘She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.’

The woman had walked around them and gave Alistair a slightly condescending look. ‘You there,’ she said, nodding to Núria. ‘Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name, and I shall tell you mine.’

‘You can call me Núria,’ the elf replied calmly.

‘And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish,’ the stranger answered. ‘Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?’

Now Alistair flared. ‘Here no longer? You stole them, didn’t you? You’re … some kind of … sneaky … witch-thief!’

If Morrigan’s demeanour towards Alistair had been aloof before, it turned to absolute disdain now. ‘How very eloquent.’ Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. ‘How does one steal from dead men?’

‘Quite easily, it seems,’ Alistair growled. ‘Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.’

‘I will not, for ‘twas not I who removed them.’ Morrigan was clearly enjoying herself. ‘Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.’

‘Tell us at once, or face the consequences,’ Núria said fiercely.

Morrigan wasn’t at all intimidated. ‘’Twas my mother, in fact.’

Núria’s patience was wearing low. ‘Is this a joke?’ The sun was low already, they had been out here for long enough. All she wanted was to go back and do the ritual. The documents Duncan wanted were gone, and this woman was being unhelpful on purpose.

Morrigan merely smiled at Núria’s impatience. ‘If so, it seems the truthful rather than the funny sort, no?’ Alistair rolled his eyes.

‘Great! She’s a thieving, weird-talking, _funny_ sort of witch.’

‘Not all in the Wilds are monsters,’ Morrigan claimed with some impatience. ‘Flowers grow, as well as toads. If you wish, I will take you to my mother. ‘Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like.’

‘We should get those treaties,’ Alistair said, as if talking to himself, ‘but I dislike this … Morrigan’s sudden appearance. It’s too convenient.’

Núria shook her head. ‘I say we go with her.’ She held no real conviction that anyone would listen to her. Indeed, Jory and Daveth didn’t look happy, but to her eternal surprise, Alistair gave a curt nod, and they followed Morrigan through the swamps.

Her mother, it turned out, made her daughter appear entirely normal. She did have the treaties, however, and returned them willingly. She let Morrigan escort them all back, and when they reached the camp, the sun had set entirely.

If Núria thought Duncan would let them rest, she was mistaken. He informed them that their Joining would begin immediately and that they might die during the ceremony. Núria tried to ignore the other two recruits as best she could while waiting at an old temple, to which Alistair had led them. She wasn’t afraid to die. If she did, it would be sooner and cleaner than what would have awaited her in the arl’s dungeons. If she lived, well, she would perhaps die in the battle later.

When Duncan came and announced that they would drink the blood of the darkspawn, Núria swallowed. This was not a pleasant thought at all. But she composed herself quickly. She listened as Alistair preluded the ritual with the traditional words. ‘Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows, where we stand vigilant. Join us, as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn; and should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you.’

‘Daveth, step forward,’ Duncan said, giving him the chalice with the blood.

Bracing himself, Daveth drank. Núria watched Alistair retreat from him slightly, and Jory followed his lead. She stood rooted to the spot watching, waiting what would happen. For a few moments, Daveth stood motionless, then he broke to his knees with an inhuman scream.

Jory muttered, ‘Maker’s breath,’ and stumbled further away. Núria was tempted to do the same but stood her ground.

‘I am sorry, Daveth,’ Duncan said to the dying man. Then, ‘Step forward, Jory.’

The knight backed away, shaking, and drew his sword. ‘But … I have a wife, a child … Had I known …’

‘There is no turning back,’ Duncan interrupted him, moving towards him with the chalice.

‘No,’ Jory insisted, ‘you ask too much.’ His voice was breaking, his sword-hand unsteady. ‘There is no glory in this.’

Duncan left the chalice on a table and drew a long dagger. Jory tried to attack him, but his attempt was too feeble. Duncan’s blade sank deeply into his body. ‘I am sorry,’ he said again and sounded truthful. With a groan, Jory sank to the stone floor and moved no more. ‘But the Joining is not yet complete,’ Duncan’s voice reached Núria as if coming through a veil. He handed the chalice to Núria, who swallowed again but had no mind at all to try and leave. ‘You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good,’ he told her, and she drank deeply. The blood tasted bitter, not like she had expected. It seemed to burn her throat, and a sharp pain shot from her nose into her skull. She managed to hand the chalice back to Duncan rather than dropping it. Still, he was talking, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying, her head was spinning, she heard incomprehensible whispers, harsh and crude, and she pressed her eyes shut, trying to get rid of the voice. When she opened them again, she saw a dragon, huge and scaly and dreadful, flexing its wings and roaring at her. Then all went dark.

When she came to, Alistair and Duncan were bending over her, Alistair offering a hand to help her up. For once, she took it. ‘It is finished,’ Duncan said. ‘Welcome.’

‘Two more deaths,’ Alistair said softly. ‘In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was … horrible. I am glad at least one of you made it through.’

‘How do you feel?’ Duncan asked gently.

‘It’s over,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Did you have dreams?’ Alistair asked. ‘I had terrible dreams after my Joining.’

Núria nodded slowly, and Duncan gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do,’ he explained. ‘That and many other things can be explained in the months to come.’

‘Before I forget, there is one last part to you Joining,’ Alistair said, and Núria cringed slightly. ‘We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us … of those who didn’t make it thus far.’ Thinking about how the other two had died, Núria hung the chain around her neck. Duncan then asked her to attend a meeting with the king as soon as she was able. Núria decided to take that literally. Surely, she wasn’t that important. She would rest and go then. She had never in her life been so tired.

Ϡ

Núria allowed herself half an hour of rest. After that she found the Tranquil had left his place and used the prisoner’s key to plunder the box where he had been. She felt a nasty creature in her innards, she supposed it was a bad conscience. She ignored it and went to the place where the meeting with the King was supposed to be. Duncan didn’t seem angry at her late arrival, and it didn’t look as if she was required anyway. Loghain and the King were obviously having a disagreement. About what exactly she wasn’t sure, but she had a nasty feeling that it concerned her.

In the end, King Cailan informed them that she and Alistair were to light a beacon on the Tower of Ishal to signal Loghain when it was time for him to charge into the flank of the enemy. The Grey Wardens had both tried to protest that they should be in the battle, but Duncan had warned them to do as they were told.

Núria felt foolish. They had to cross a bridge, walk up a tower, and wait … Anyone could have done that. She and Alistair were standing at the western side of the gorge, exchanging a glance of frustration.

Down below, the army of King Cailan was gathering. A priest was passing between the rows, speaking blessings. They went into position and stared ahead, at a mass of bodies moving towards them, indistinct in the darkness.

As they drew closer, the hearts of the men sank. Taking in the rattling breath and rotting flesh of the darkspawn was gruesome to behold, even to the bold warriors. And then they were charging.

‘Archers!’ Cailan’s voice cut through the night, and a myriad of burning arrows sailed through the chilly air, felling some of the darkspawn, others stumbled over the dead.

‘Hounds!’ the king shouted, and a pack of mabari was released. Barking and growling and fearless they stormed forwards, tearing at the foes of their homelands.

‘For Ferelden!’ Cailan yelled, and his army charged, with him in the front row. Fireballs the mages conjured illuminated the night sky in an ominous, red glow. Up on the bridge, Alistair and Núria came out of their reverie and started to run to the other side of the gorge.

Burning rocks collided with the bridge, and Núria fell. For a horrible moment she thought the bridge would break, but it held, and she staggered up and on, only able to hope that Alistair would be right behind her. She didn’t dare halt to check.

Across the bridge, she did stop and gave a sigh of relief that he was still there with her. Alistair wiped blood from his forehead and urged her on. Before they even reached to tower, however, a guard and a mage came running towards them, the warrior’s sword bloody. Breathlessly, the two of them told them that the tower had been taken by darkspawn. Alistair’s face fell. ‘Maker’s breath,’ he exclaimed. ‘What are these darkspawn doing ahead the rest of the horde? There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here!’ He looked at Núria, as though he hoped she would prove it all wrong.

‘Weren’t you complaining that you wouldn’t get to fight?’ she asked instead, and Alistair huffed.

‘Hey, you’re right,’ he said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘I guess there is a silver lining here.’ With that, he ran on.

Núria rounded on the other two. ‘The bridge is under attack, you come with us.’

The mage looked as though he would protest, but the tower guard was shoving him back in the direction where they had come from, and he didn’t object.

Núria never remembered how they had finally made it to the top of the tower. If she had been tired before, she felt like she was only staying on her feet out of spite now. Before they stepped onto the roof, Alistair smiled weakly. ‘We’re almost done, and then we’ll crawl in one of the closets down there and sleep through the rest of the night, right?’ he said, and Núria gave him half a grin and a nod. That did sound tempting.

The moment she had stepped through the door, Núria collided with Alistair. ‘What?’ she asked impatiently.

By means of an answer, Alistair drew his sword and pointed it in front of him. He needn’t have bothered. No one could have missed the … thing towering before them.

‘What _is_ that?’ Núria breathed.

‘An ogre,’ the mage behind her informed her hoarsely, while Alistair charged at the monstrosity with a shout. Núria followed suit, believing that now they were all going to die.

Somehow, miraculously, they managed to fell the creature, and Alistair gave a shout of triumph, jumping onto its chest and ramming his blade into its head with both hands. Núria’s heart was racing, she barely managed to sheathe her weapons. Shaking, the mage lit a blazing fire with a spell. Núria sank to the ground, utterly exhausted. She barely registered the darkspawn storming the rooftop. In her current situation she found surviving a while longer would have been nice.

Ϡ

‘Sound the retreat,’ Teyrn Loghain said firmly, looking at his signal.

‘But … what about the king?’ the woman beside him asked. ‘Should we not ...’ Loghain shot her an icy glare.

‘Do as I command.’ She turned to her armies, and with a few harsh words from her, they left.

Ϡ

Duncan scanned the battlefield with growing desperation. The signal to light the beacon had been given a while ago, but the tower remained dark. Something must have happened, Alistair would not have let him down if he had a chance. An ogre came towards him and King Cailan, crushing friend and foe alike under its feet. With one sweeping motion, it grabbed the king, lifting him up to his face, and for one terrible moment Duncan stood frozen, watching as the monster screamed, sending spit flying into the king’s face. He saw the gigantic hand contract, crushing the man’s ribcage before flinging him away. Cailan remained motionless where he had fallen.

With a shout of anger, Duncan threw himself at the ogre, hacking at it, ramming his sword into it, pulling himself up on the tall beast to slay it with a mad stab at his head. He felt like walking through a haze as he staggered towards the fallen king. He was clearly dead, his body broken by the brute force of his foe. The darkspawn were winning the battle. Once again, Duncan looked towards the tower. The beacon was lit, but nothing was to be heard from Loghain. An angry shout came from behind him.

Ϡ

Núria awoke with a groan. She blinked, trying to remember where she was. Every muscle in her body was aching, and so was her head. ‘Ah, your eyes finally open,’ a voice said behind her. ‘Mother shall be pleased.’ Núria needed a few moments to recognise the voice.

‘I remember you,’ she said then, ‘the girl from the Wilds.’

‘I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten,’ she told her. ‘And we are in the Wilds, where I am bandaging you wounds. You are welcome, by the way. How does your memory fare? Do you remember mother’s rescue?’

Núria blinked. All she remembered was being cornered. ‘She rescued me?’ she asked blankly. ‘You mean from the tower?’

‘Mother managed to rescue you and your friend, though ‘twas a close call,’ Morrigan informed her. ‘What is important is that you both live. The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend … he is not taking it well.’

Núria nodded vaguely and dressed before she followed Morrigan outside. Alistair was standing beside the pool next to the hut. ‘See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden,’ Morrigan’s mother said. ‘You worry too much, young man.’

Núria nodded a greeting to her and approached Alistair. His eyes were red and swollen. ‘You … you’re alive,’ he breathed incredulously. ‘I thought you were dead for sure.’ Núria merely shrugged, not feeling really alive. Standing here seemed so unreal. ‘Duncan’s dead,’ Alistair said without preamble. ‘The Grey Wardens, even the king … They’re all dead. This doesn’t seem real.’

Núria felt a pang of compassion for the man. He had talked to her about Duncan, and from what she knew, he had cared deeply for the older man. Núria had a hard time paying attention to the conversation. She was sure she had a concussion, and she was sporting various other injuries. She heard Morrigan’s mother calling herself Flemeth, which seemed to scandalise Alistair, but she had never heard the name. Apparently she was famous, but such things didn’t really reach an alienage.

In the end, Flemeth sent them away from her hut, technically telling them to gather an army to save the world. It sounded simple, the way she said it, but to Núria she could have suggested just as well that she grew wings. Well, if Morrigan was to be believed, that was what Flemeth had done in order to get her and Alistair from the Tower of Ishal, and somehow that was the most believable of all the options available. Still, she had done her best to sound confident. She supposed Alistair needed that, and if she wanted to do anything about the Blight, she needed _him_.

Also, Flemeth had told Morrigan to go with them – much to her displeasure. The way she stormed out of their sight Núria thought she would not return, but only minutes later she was back with a backpack and a frown. Núria sighed. She would have liked to spend at least a few hours here in peace, but apparently that was not going to happen.

Ϡ

Loghain stood on the balustrade in the Landsmeet chamber, the bannorn gathered below. Anora was at his side, although a step behind him. All that, Bann Teagan noticed. His brow was furrowed as he listened to what was clearly a well-rehearsed speech.

‘And I expect each of you to supply these men,’ Loghain said. ‘We must rebuild what was lost at Ostagar, and quickly. There are those who would take advantage of our weakened state if we let them. We must defeat this darkspawn incursion, but we must do so sensibly and without hesitation.’

Teagan realised that if he didn’t speak now, he wouldn’t get another chance. He cleared his throat. ‘Your Lordship. If I might speak …’ Loghain didn’t agree, but he did not tell him to remain silent either, so he continued. ‘You have declared yourself Queen Anora’s regent, and claim we must unite under your banner for our own good. But what of the army lost at Ostagar? Your withdrawal was most … fortuitous.’ Loud mutterings arose around Teagan, but he didn’t heed them. The only thing that mattered was what Loghain would say. Also, he had spoken to others before, and he knew they shared his view. It simply seemed that no one had actually expected him to speak up.

‘Everything I have done has been to secure Ferelden’s independence. I have not shed my duty to the throne, and neither will any of you.’ Loghain sounded fierce all right, but Teagan stood his ground.

‘The bannorn will not bow to you simply because you demand it,’ he said firmly.

‘Understand this,’ Loghain thundered, ‘I will brook no threat to this nation from you or anyone.’ Loghain turned on his heel and left his balcony. Most of the bannorn filed out. Teagan remained with balled fists and an angry glare after this self-proclaimed regent before he turned to leave as well.

‘Bann Teagan!’ Queen Anora’s clear voice rang out. ‘Please!’

Teagan stood and turned to face her. ‘Your Majesty, your father risks civil war. If Eamon were here ...’

‘Bann Teagan, my father is doing what is best,’ Queen Anora said with conviction.

Teagan raised his eyebrows. ‘Did he also do what was best for your husband, your Majesty?’ No answer came, and Teagan hadn’t expected one. He left, more worried than he had been before.

Ϡ

The small party journeyed to the north, never halting until noon. Morrigan was the only one who talked, pointing Núria out to herbs that she could use to make poultices and other such things. She also showed her a livid green plant, telling her that the most deadly poisons could be made out of it. Morrigan plucked a leaf of it and crushed it between two fingers. It smelled like acid. ‘The juice in all the green parts is poisonous. The blossoms are a pale yellow, and the fruits brightly so. You can eat them. I do not recommend it, however, they taste as bad as they smell.’ Morrigan then put a few of the leaves into a separate pouch from the other plants. ‘Well, I may not be a skilled poison maker, but perhaps we find one in Lothering, no?’

Lothering was where they were heading. Morrigan had told them it was a small village, and Núria hoped sincerely that they would be able to rest there for at least a while. She was deadly tired.

They had trudged on in silence for quite a while when Alistair stopped in his tracks. He was about to say something when a large mabari hound was running towards them, stopping short before Núria, barking madly, and running off towards where it had come from. It didn’t get far. A group of darkspawn had apparently chased it here.

Núria exchanged a quick glance with Alistair, and as one, they drew their weapons and charged. The darkspawn didn’t seem to be more than stragglers, and they were overcome quickly. The mabari stood before Núria, wagging its tail and tilting its head with its tongue lolling out at the side.

‘You’re the one I muzzled, right?’

The dog wagged its tail so furiously that its entire backside was swinging from right to left. Morrigan gave an impatient huff, but Alistair knelt down next to the mabari and grinned.

‘You’re taking him with us, right?’ he asked and looked positively like a little boy asking if he could keep a puppy he had found.

‘I guess I have to,’ Núria said softly. ‘I’m not leaving him here, anyway. What shall I call you? Ivanhoe?’ The mabari gave a loud bark, and Núria grinned. ‘Right. Let’s get a move, I want to get to Lothering today.’

Ϡ

‘We’re almost there,’ Morrigan announced in the late afternoon. ‘There is a small inn where we can spend the night, I hope, and move on tomorrow. If we have any idea where we are going, really.’ She glanced at Alistair, who was walking beside them silently, his look distant. ‘Let’s just hope your friend here didn’t swallow his tongue by acc...’ She halted abruptly and stared ahead of her. Núria shook herself and stared too.

‘Wake up, gentlemen, more travellers to attend to,’ a male voice announced, and only now she saw the group of armed people on the road. ‘Led by an elf, of all things,’ the leader said, while his soldiers were positioning themselves at his side.

Núria noticed a body at the side of the road and frowned. Confused, she followed a short discussion between the man at the front and one of the others, discussing whether or not it was wise to charge a so-called toll from them. Morrigan was all for attacking, Núria however was feeling so boneless that she’d rather they were left well alone. In the end, talking more boldly than she felt, she threatened the highway-men, as Alistair had called them, for twenty silvers. She put them into her pocket, then tilted her head and gave the leader of the group a hard look.

‘It’s time for you and your men to leave,’ she told him coldly. The leader looked like he was going to argue, but Núria drew her dagger from its sheath.

‘Well … we don’t want trouble, so … yes, we will do that. Thank you for sparing us.’

Núria and Morrigan exchanged a short glance that said, ‘Cowards.’ Núria looked at the body and removed a locket and a note from one of his pockets. Without a further word they made to leave the highway.

Alistair cleared his throat. ‘Well, there it is. Lothering. Pretty as a painting.’

Núria stared at the small village. It was many things, overcrowded seemed to be one of them, but pretty most obviously wasn’t.

‘Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you?’ Morrigan said briskly. ‘Falling on your blade in grief seemed too much trouble, I take it?’

Alistair didn’t even look at her. ‘Is my being upset so hard to understand? Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?’

Morrigan tilted her head. ‘Before or after I stopped laughing?’

Alistair rolled his eyes. ‘Right. Very creepy. Forget I asked.’

‘You have been very quiet, Alistair,’ Núria pointed out, but much friendlier than Morrigan. She liked the other woman all right, but she felt Alistair needed more support.

‘Yes, I know,’ he said softly. ‘I was just … thinking.’

‘No wonder it took so long, then,’ Morrigan muttered.

Alistair gave her a look full of contempt. ‘Oh, I get it. This is the part where we’re shocked to discover how you’ve never had a friend your entire life.’

‘I can be friendly when I desire to,’ Morrigan claimed. ‘Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so.’

Alistair looked as if he’d respond, then he shook his head and addressed Núria instead. ‘Anyway, I thought we should talk about where we intend to go first.’

‘We should try and use these treaties, I assume,’ Núria said. Alistair agreed. He informed her quickly that the treaties bound the Circle of Magi, the Dalish elves, and the dwarves of Orzammar to the service of the Grey Wardens. He also suggested that before visiting any of these parties, they should seek out Arl Eamon in Redcliffe.

Núria sighed. ‘That sounds like a very long journey. Let’s just stay here for a day or two. It looks like they need help here, anyway.’


	3. Overrun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((This chapter actually got a different title.))

Close to, Lothering was even less pretty. Núria’s first impression of an overcrowded village had been correct. Refugees were filling the inn as well as the Chantry, as good as every house, and every free spot on the streets. Everyone was scared, a man was screaming about how they were all doomed, and the villagers were stupid enough to listen and let him frighten them even more.

Núria didn’t have much pity. The situation was not worse than in the alienage, but they didn’t seem to have any pride at all. And the chantry woman pleading with her to tell a greedy merchant to sell his wares for a more suitable price didn’t reach her heart either. Núria felt a wild satisfaction at sending the sister and the beggars away in favour of the merchant, whom she bribed for a discount. Morrigan’s laughter rang in her ears, and she shut out Alistair’s protests. The _shemlen_ treated her kind worse than that. They’d survive it. The blight however … Well, she couldn’t work miracles.

‘Have you seen my mother?’ a small voice asked from near Núria’s waist. A little boy was looking up at her, and Alistair looked at her as if daring her to shoo him away. He needn’t have bothered.

She knelt. ‘No … I’m afraid I haven’t. Maybe … maybe you know where your father is?’ The boy shook his head. ‘No … well then … come, we’ll look for them together.’

The boy made a step away from Núria. ‘Mother said I wasn’t to go with anyone. I’m supposed to wait for her here in the village.’

Núria smiled weakly. She was sure she could persuade the boy, but she found his attitude towards strangers too useful to discourage it. ‘Go to the chantry, child. Someone will look after you.’

‘I will,’ the boy conceded, ‘but only if I don’t find my mother first.’ The boy looked as if he was bracing himself. Then, ‘So … um … are you really an elf?’

Núria chuckled. ‘Did the ears give me away?’

‘Father says elves aren’t very nice,’ the boy said, looking doubtful enough, ‘but you’re nicer than everybody here. Thank you for helping me.’

Núria shot Alistair a grin and shrugged. ‘I guess some people do think I’m all right, then.’

‘Perhaps we should just go to the inn,’ Morrigan suggested.

Determined to get some rest at last, Núria entered. ‘Well. Look what we have here, men,’ a male voice snarled, and she closed her eyes, hoping foolishly that whoever was talking to her would just go away. ‘I think we’ve just been blessed.’

Alistair tensed and inched closer to mutter in Núria’s ear. ‘They are Loghain’s men.’ She swore under her breath.

‘Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble,’ a slightly accented voice said. What was that colouring? Orlesian? ‘These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge.’

Núria almost snorted. Armed as they were, that was not exactly a likely story. She raised her eyebrows at the sister that had spoken. She had to look twice to be sure she hadn’t imagined what she saw. The woman before her was wearing a chantry robe all right, but there was also a sword sheathed behind her back. Núria shot her a slightly challenging glance. ‘If he wants trouble, he can have that.’ To make her point, she drew her sword.

Out of the corner of her eye, Núria saw the sister do the same, flinging herself upon one of the soldiers. She was a good fighter. People in the inn didn’t seem all too frightened by the fight, ducking out of harm’s way, but not interfering or else fleeing the place. Finally, the man who had challenged them, surrendered. ‘I don’t want them reporting to Loghain,’ Núria said darkly, her dagger against the man’s throat.

The sister shook her head fiercely. ‘They have surrendered! They were no match for you. Let them be.’

Núria sighed and made a step away from her opponent. She narrowed her eyes and pointed to the door with her dagger. ‘Start running. Right now.’ The man thanked her in a quavering voice and he and his soldiers cleared out. Núria sighed. ‘I just hope that wasn’t a mistake.’ She turned to look at the sister with raised eyebrows.

‘I apologise for interfering, but I couldn’t just sit by and not help,’ the young woman said. She wiped blood from her face with her left hand and smiled innocently.

‘And who are you, anyhow?’ Núria demanded.

‘Leliana,’ the woman answered. ‘One of the lay sisters of the chantry here in Lothering. Or I was.’

‘I’m Núria. And what precisely do you want?’

Leliana shrugged, not at all perturbed by her harshness. ‘Let’s sit down here, yes?’ She walked them to a table, and they sat. ‘Those men said you’re a Grey Warden. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?’ Núria nodded. ‘I know after what happened you’ll need all the help you can get. That’s why I’m coming along.’

‘I will need help indeed,’ Núria admitted.

‘That and the Maker wants me to go with you,’ Leliana confirmed.

Alistair gaped at her. ‘What?’

‘That’s the most intelligent thing you said today,’ Morrigan said.

Leliana glanced at them for a moment. ‘I … I know that sounds absolutely insane.’ Morrigan nodded fervently. Núria tried not to laugh and compromised by giving Morrigan a slightly tired smile. ‘I had a dream, a vision,’ Leliana explained. Núria rubbed the bridge of her nose with two fingers but didn’t interrupt. ‘Look at the people here,’ Leliana said with some fervour. ‘They are lost in their despair, and this darkness, this chaos … will spread. The Maker doesn’t want this.’

‘Prayers and blessings didn’t help the armies at Ostagar,’ Núria said calmly. ‘They won’t do more good here.’

‘I can fight,’ Leliana insisted. ‘I can do more than fight. I was not always a lay sister. I put aside that life when I came here, but if the Maker wants it so, I will take it up again, gladly. Please let me help you.’

Núria sighed deeply and exchanged a glance with Alistair. He gave an almost invisible shrug. ‘Very well,’ Núria said. ‘I will take whatever help is offered.’

Leliana beamed. ‘Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than mother thought,’ Morrigan muttered.

Núria smiled at her. ‘Would you two please ask around if anyone needs help? Look, I know they don’t deserve it, but they don’t deserve the blight either. Just ask around.’ Morrigan growled and left in silence.

‘There’s a chanter’s board … I’ll look if anything is on it,’ Alistair said and rose.

‘You may want to speak to that man there in the corner,’ Leliana said. ‘He looks like he’s been trying to catch your eyes.’ Alistair nodded at her and approached him. ‘I know them, they’re the Blackstone Irregulars. I heard them talk about how they hope for the help of the Grey Wardens.’

‘I would like to get to know the person I so quickly invited to travel with me,’ Núria said without preamble.

The young red-head leaned back in her chair, looking perfectly at ease. ‘Ask away.’

‘You know, I do not often encounter such warm treatment from humans,’ she admitted.

Leliana shrugged. ‘Well, first of all you’re a Grey Warden. You’re all equals, no?’

‘That’s the idea. So … what does someone like you do in the chantry?’

Leliana’s smile turned cocky. ‘Someone like me?’

‘You know, a beautiful, charming woman like yourself,’ Núria said, meaning it, and felt her cheeks grow hot. The other woman just had to get this wrong.

‘And there are no beautiful, charming women in the cloisters, no?’ Leliana said with a soft laugh, and Núria relaxed. ‘You have no idea, Núria. Beautiful name, but foreign, I believe?’

Núria shrugged. ‘It’s supposed to be foreign, yes. My mother chose it, but I don’t know where it comes from. Do you?’

Leliana tilted her head. ‘I’ve never heard it, but my guess would be … perhaps Antivan?’ She looked excited. ‘Has your mother been Antivan, perhaps? That would explain why you fight so … um.’ Leliana looked lost for words.

‘Say it, I know I don’t fight fairly,’ Núria helped her out although she was lost as to why that had anything to do with foreign countries. ‘My mother was born in the alienage in Denerim, like myself. She had a liking for foreign names, but I doubt very much if she knew its origin herself.’ She shook her head. ‘Back to the cloisters, Leliana, I’d rather not talk about the past.’

‘Oh, right,’ Leliana said, looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘There were many lovely young initiates in the Lothering cloister – all of them chaste and virtuous.’ She moved her head closer across the table, the easy familiarity she radiated passing on to Núria. ‘Because then … then they were forbidden, and forbidden fruit is the sweeter, no?’

Núria grinned, wondering how bold Leliana would be if she played along. She decided to find out. She leaned towards the Orlesian, a conspiratorial look on her face. ‘What about your fruit?’ she asked in a hushed voice. ‘Is it forbidden?’

Leliana blushed crimson. ‘My … fruit? I … um.’ Núria couldn’t help grinning, and Leliana laughed softly. ‘I can’t believe I’m having this conversation … but no, I didn’t take any vows.’

Núria smiled. ‘I wonder if you’d tell me why you went in the first place.’ Leliana sighed. ‘You need not answer if you don’t want to,’ Núria offered, but Leliana shook her head.

‘It’s all right. I simply desired time apart from the world. I was a travelling minstrel in Orlais. Tales and songs were my life. I performed, and they awarded me with applause and coin. And my skill in battle … well you pick up different skills when you travel, yes? Yes of course. Oh, there is … what’s his name?’

Núria turned around and winked at Alistair. ‘Alistair. The woman is Morrigan. And the guy looking at you in hope of food is Ivanhoe.’

Leliana ruffled his head without any fear. ‘How much did you pay for him? They cost a fortune I am told.’

Núria laughed. ‘I found him on the way here. He simply decided to come with me. That seems to happen. So, Alistair, anything we can do for these _shemlen_?’

Ϡ

They spent almost a week in Lothering. It was good to rest, and they also helped get the bandits wrecking the weakened village out of the way. Alistair found the body of the small boy’s mother being ripped apart by wolves and picked up a locket from her to give the poor child as a reminder. Leliana, it turned out, was very good company. She knew legends of all sorts, about the darkspawn, about the prophetess Andraste, and many other things. Núria bought tents and bedrolls for all of them and left Ivanhoe to guard them. Occasionally when she returned, the mabari placed dirty clothes and stolen cakes before her, at which she made sure to praise him. She always allowed him to keep his bait, though.

Leliana had rented a small room and allowed the other three to sleep in their bedrolls on the floor when the weather turned wet. The place was very crowded, and Núria was slowly beginning to change her mind about humans as such, returning to the rather friendly attitude she had always had. Sometimes, however, she remembered what had happened to Shianni, and whenever that was the case, she grew almost cruel. She did manage not to focus her rage on her companions, though.

‘Núria, there’s a man in a cage out there, have you seen him?’ Alistair asked her one evening when they were preparing to rest.

‘Seen him, yes, but the last time I talked to a prisoner is still too vivid in my memory,’ she said. ‘Don’t ask,’ she added quickly.

Alistair’s expression was so supremely unreadable she wondered if he knew. ‘Well, I asked him why he was in there, and he said he killed a farmer and his family. His name is Sten, and he’s a qunari. They’re … um … never mind. Anyway, he waited to be taken captive, looking for atonement. I offered atonement if he followed us, I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.’

Núria snorted. ‘Alistair, you are my senior. I understand that you’d rather I make decisions, but don’t think you can’t make some for yourself. Is he willing to come with us?’

‘He sounds willing enough, but he reckons the Revered Mother won’t let him go. We should talk to her.’

Núria crept into her blankets and yawned. ‘We will. Tomorrow. And then we leave this dump.’

Ϡ

Early the next morning, Núria decided to visit the chantry with the other three. She had wanted to take a look around anyway; also, they had finally finished all the tasks that were written out at the chanter’s board. Núria ignored the chanter next to it as best she could. His constant chanting without saying a single normal sentence annoyed her to no end.

Fuming already, she paced to the very back of the chantry, where the Revered Mother was sitting on a stool with a blissful smile. Her eyes found Leliana, and the smile grew wider. ‘Good morning, Sister Leliana. I’m surprised to see you’re still in Lothering.’

‘It’s good to see you as well, your Reverence,’ Leliana replied. Núria heard Morrigan muttering behind her.

‘I do not recognise your companion,’ the woman continued. ‘Greetings. Will you be making a donation for the chantry? Our need has never been greater.’

Núria glared at her. ‘Tithe? To the chantry? Are you joking?’

The Revered Mother only looked sad. ‘A great number of people could be fed and clothed for a fraction of your finery. But you must do as your heart wills. What can I do for you then?’

‘I want to talk about Sten, the qunari you imprisoned,’ Núria said briskly.

‘It might have been kinder to execute him, but I leave his fate to the Maker,’ the Revered Mother explained. ‘Why does he interest you?’

With every word from the woman, Núria got angrier. ‘I want him freed, I might have a use for him.’ Indeed, killing the man would have been kinder, she would offer it to him if the Revered Mother wouldn’t let him go.

‘Then his next victims might count you and me as their murderers,’ she answered, shaking her head ever so slightly.

Something snapped in Núria’s mind. Her hand travelled to her dagger. ‘Do you really think I am not going to get that key if I want it?’

A soft laugh sounded came from Morrigan. ‘Now we threaten priests? How fun!’

Alistair was not amused, though. ‘Whoa, whoa! Let’s not get out of hand here. Your Reverence, please … we are on an important mission, let us take the qunari off your hands, I beg you!’

‘I see,’ the Revered Mother said coldly, ‘and if not, I am to be assaulted? Is this what we have come to?’

‘No, your Reverence,’ Alistair said firmly and with a hard glare at Núria. ‘I will not allow that to happen.’ Grudgingly, she handed the key to Alistair, who shot a last angry glance at Núria before he headed towards the exit. Leliana seemed to have molten into the floor at some point and emerged slightly pale but looking impressed rather than shocked.

Alistair had obviously intended to storm out of the chantry, but his eye caught a man glancing listlessly at a book. He stopped so abruptly that Núria almost collided with him. ‘Ser Donall? Is that you?’

The stranger looked up. ‘Alistair? By the Maker, how are you? I … I was certain you were dead.’

Alistair shrugged. ‘Not yet, no thanks to Teyrn Loghain.’

‘If Arl Eamon were well, he’d set Loghain straight soon enough,’ Donall said in a low voice. ‘But he’s stricken with an illness that threatens his life. We have found no cure, neither natural nor magical.’

‘When did this happen?’ Alistair asked stiffly.

Donall’s tone and expression were almost desperate. ‘Only a few weeks ago, but he has declined quickly. No one knows the nature of the illness, and even magic has done little to slow its progress. Our only hope now is a miracle. Every knight of Redcliffe has gone in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes.’ Alistair’s eyes widened. Núria on the other hand didn’t really believe in miracles and wasn’t familiar with this one. ‘Andraste’s ashes are said to cure any illness,’ Donall explained when he saw her expression. ‘But I fear we’re chasing a fable. With each day my hope dims.’

‘I was hoping to meet Arl Eamon,’ Núria informed him. Not that it seemed likely to happen.

‘Why is that, if I may ask?’ the knight inquired, his eyes slightly narrowed, and for once, she couldn’t blame him. The arl was ill already, he had to be careful.

‘We need his help against Teyrn Loghain.’

Donall sighed. ‘I see. The arl is a popular man, it’s true. Teyrn Loghain, however, is a hero throughout Ferelden. Whatever he has done or not done, the arl remains ill, or worse. That is my primary concern.’

Núria nodded. ‘Is there any point in going to Redcliffe?’

‘He may be dead already,’ Donall replied. ‘Or perhaps his luck has changed in the weeks I have been gone.’

A hand landed on her shoulder, and Núria turned to look into Alistair’s eyes. ‘We should see what’s happening in Redcliffe ourselves.’

Núria remembered that he had told her about how the arl had taken him in, a bastard child, and nodded. He relaxed slightly.

‘If nothing else, I am certain you would be welcomed in Caste Redcliffe,’ Donall said. ‘The arlessa is there, and she could tell you more than I.’

Núria exchanged a short glance with Alistair and a weak grin. They both knew that the arlessa, believing Alistair to be the arl’s bastard, would certainly not give him a warm greeting. ‘Tell me more about this Urn of Sacred Ashes,’ Núria said, steering the conversation to safer topics.

‘Supposedly, the Urn contains the Ashes of the prophetess Andraste,’ Donall explained. ‘Surely you know all this?’

‘Perhaps I could help?’ Núria offered, regretting it the same moment. They had other things to do, how should they find a relic that probably didn’t even exist? Unless … The note she had found at the body before they had entered Lothering had said something about one Brother Genitivi, who lived in Denerim and was supposed to know where the Urn was.

Donall gave her a searching look, trying to decide how much to tell her, it seemed. ‘Nothing I have found leads me to believe that this was anything more than a quest of desperation. I intend to return to Redcliffe soon and tell the arlessa exactly that, once Ser Henric arrives.’

It took a moment before something clicked into place in Núria’s head. ‘Your friend Ser Henric is dead. I have something of his.’ She rummaged in her pocket for the pendant and the note she had found at the dead man on the highway.

Donall’s face fell. ‘What? And you have his locket? And a note?’ He heaved a deep sigh. ‘If you hadn’t told me I would never have known. In this case I have to return to Redcliffe at once. Perhaps I will seek out the scholar his note mentions. But I must go. Thank you again, my lady. You have been most helpful.’ With a weak nod at Alistair and slumped shoulders he left the chantry, and Núria followed after a moment.

‘Let’s get that qunari out of his cage and move on,’ she said, slightly dispirited.

Again, Alistair’s hand found her shoulder. ‘Let’s … not despair just yet,’ he said softly.

‘We’ll go to Redcliffe at once,’ she said. ‘Who knows, maybe we can do something for him.’

Núria followed Alistair to where the qunari was held captive and unlocked his cage wordlessly. ‘I confess, I did not think the priestess would let me go,’ the huge man said by means of a greeting. He had a low, rumbling voice and a slightly impatient tone to it.

Núria wondered if freeing him hadn’t been a mistake. ‘What does it matter if you’re free?’ She wasn’t sure if she sounded as sure of herself as she wanted to.

‘Perhaps we have different ideas of freedom,’ was the curt answer.

Núria thought that she would certainly not try to stop the man if he were to bolt, but he didn’t look like he was going to try anyway. ‘You can atone for your crime by assisting me.’

‘I will follow you against the blight,’ Sten said. ‘In doing so I shall find my atonement.’ There was a note of finality to his voice.

Núria shrugged, looking back at him. ‘I … uh, guess that will do.’ The words sounded patronising even to her own ears. She glanced at her followers. An ex-templar, a witch of the wilds, a qunari warrior, and a slightly delusional sister. With a wry grin she wondered what she would pick up next. She looked down at Ivanhoe, who was trudging along, his eyes constantly on her. ‘You’re my grasp on normality, Ivanhoe.’ Ivanhoe barked.


	4. Revelations for Dinner

The small group walked until the sun began to set. Even then, Sten demanded why they didn’t keep walking. ‘We’re not all qunari,’ Núria informed him. ‘Or elves, for that matter. We need to rest, and regularly. Besides, I wonder how you’re doing.’

‘You are concerned?’ Sten asked. ‘No need. I am fit enough to fight.’

Núria didn’t point out to him that currently there was nothing around that needed fighting. Talking to him turned out to be a rather trying business. Still, she did her best. By the end of her conversation with him all she had learned was that he didn’t like generalisations and that he did seem to have a rather foreign world view. One comforting impression was, however, that she’d sooner hear a painful truth from him than a lie, and she could appreciate that. She finally told him firmly that they would indeed rest an entire night and turned to Alistair and Leliana to pitch their tents. She looked for Morrigan and found her standing by an already blazing fire of her own, well away from the one Alistair had lit. She approached her with a sigh.

‘You know, our fire is warm enough for you as well.’

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. ‘I do not doubt that, but I’d rather not suffer Alistair’s ramblings all night long. Also, I do not favour prying eyes overly much. No, I think I’d rather stay here and watch as this fool tries to pitch a tent.’

Núria followed her gaze and found him struggling. She rolled her eyes. ‘Again, I’ve got to rescue someone, it seems.’ The remark earned her a chuckle from the witch. Remembering something, Núria turned back around to face her. ‘Oh, are there any sorts of … magical wards that you can place around the camp?’

Morrigan raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes, but I think that neither Alistair nor your qunari will approve of that.’

Núria snorted. ‘Like I ask them. I prefer your magic to being eaten alive. Thank you.’

It turned out that pitching a tent sounded easier than it was. The joint forces of Núria, Leliana, and Alistair, however, were victorious in the end. When they were done, they stood at a short distance, marvelling at their work. Morrigan’s tent inspired more confidence than the three others together. The one they had carried along for Sten lay in a bundle. The qunari preferred to sleep under the stars. ‘And now,’ Núria said wistfully, ‘I am not one bit tired.’

Leliana laughed. ‘We have a beautiful fire, and I bought some meat before we left Lothering. Why not roast it and talk?’ She glanced in Morrigan’s direction. ‘I bet she would have a lot to say, but she won’t join us, will she?’

Núria shook her head. ‘Perhaps after some time.’ She dropped onto the ground near the fire. ‘So, you suggest talking … Start away, then.’

Taken aback, Leliana blinked. ‘Yes … Well, what do you want to know?’ She rummaged in her bag and produced steaks and a few dried herbs she sprinkled on the meat to spice it.

‘Hmm,’ Núria mused. ‘I heard that Orlesian minstrels are as often as not spies, as well.’

Leliana cocked her head. ‘And where did you hear that, exactly?’ She rummaged through the firewood and produced three long, thin sticks to stick the meat on.

‘Common knowledge, more or less,’ Alistair answered. ‘And although I do know there are many foolish prejudices around, some of them contain a grain of truth.’

‘A grain, yes,’ Leliana said thoughtfully. ‘We should perhaps gather corn when we find it, so we can make our own bread. But the spies are the bards, not the minstrels.’

‘So …’ Núria pressed, ‘were you a bard then?’

Leliana sighed and looked at the flames. ‘I talk too much, don’t I?’

‘You do, but I like that,’ Núria replied with a gentle smile.

‘Not answering at all can sometimes give away more than a speech, you know,’ Alistair muttered very audibly.

Leliana sighed. She grabbed a tent peg they hadn’t used and rammed it firmly into the ground three times before putting the sticks in the holes. She turned and twisted them until the meat was close enough to the fire to roast. ‘Well, there you are,’ she said when she was done. ‘You’re right.’

‘So there’s a difference between bards and minstrels?’ Alistair asked, and Leliana gave him a wry grin.

‘Minstrels are just … what they seem. A bard is more, a spy, an assassin perhaps. It depends really. Are you shocked now? You know I can fight, why ask me such things?’

Núria shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I just … When you don’t want to answer something, don’t. I’m not here to interrogate you.’

‘While we’re making confessions, I’ve got one of my own,’ Alistair said softly. ‘And I’d rather make it before you hear it from … someone else. The reason why Eamon took me in as a child … oh, Maker, why is this so difficult? My father was King Cailan.’

Leliana made a sound of pure delight. ‘Oooooh, Alistair, why hide that?’

He snorted. ‘Exactly because of that. I didn’t want you to think I’m … something special.’

Núria took some time to look at all her companions in turn. Sten was kneeling in front of Ivanhoe and involved in a growling match with him. She smirked and tore her eyes away from the sight. ‘You’re all special in your own ways. What you’re trying to say is, you’re not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?’

Alistair sighed with relief and grinned. ‘I guess that’s right, yes. I should use that line more often. See here, I did not … intentionally keep it secret, it just doesn’t matter to me. I simply thought you should know before we actually get to Redcliffe.’

Núria nodded. ‘Right, I guess that was a good idea. Imagine how I’d gape if someone calls you “your grace”.’

Alistair buried his face in his hands. ‘Can we please just forget this again? I’m not going to be a king, ever, and I sincerely don’t want to, either. If anyone’s going to succeed Cailan, it’s Arl Eamon, once he’s recovered.’ He looked up at Núria. ‘I … just hoped you’d like me for who I am, that’s why I never said anything. It was a dumb thing to do.’

Núria shook her head. ‘I do like you, and not because of your blood.’ She was surprised herself how true it was. For all his being a human, Núria enjoyed Alistair’s company.

The former templar blinked. ‘And I didn’t even notice that. Let’s just talk about something else. For example … How are you feeling about all this? You’ve been thrown into this mess, and I never stopped to ask how you’re holding up.’

Núria shrugged. ‘I wonder … are there any physical changes after you join the Grey Wardens?’

Alistair shot Leliana a short inquiring look, but then he seemed to decide that she could as well hear it. ‘You know, I asked Duncan this, and all I got was “you’ll see”.’

‘Just try that line on me,’ Núria muttered, but she smiled.

Alistair’s eyes narrowed. ‘I have other lines for you, trust me.’ When he wiggled his eyebrows, she laughed. Alistair looked rather pleased. ‘It’s not a secret really, it’s just not a pleasant thing to talk about. Well … what I noticed was an increase in appetite. How about you? The way you’re staring at that meat …’

Núria grinned at him. ‘What can I say, I’m a growing girl.’

‘I’ll say,’ Alistair agreed, eliciting a scandalised gasp from Leliana. ‘No! I didn’t mean it that way, I swear!’ Núria lunged at him, knocking him right on his back. ‘Don’t hit me, I bruise easily!’ Leliana was shaking with laughter as Alistair straightened himself. Alistair continued soberly: ‘A change that is more difficult to bear are the nightmares. Duncan said it’s part of how we sense the darkspawn. When we dream we enter their … group mind. It gets better, but after some time the real nightmares come. That’s how a Warden knows his time has come.’

‘His time has come?’ Núria echoed.

Alistair snorted. ‘Oh that’s right. We never had time to tell you that part, did we? Well, in addition to all the other wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you don’t need to worry about dying of old age. You’ve got thirty years to live. Give or take.’ He looked into the fire. ‘The taint … it’s a death sentence. Your body just won’t be able to take it for a very long time. You’ll be able to tell when the end is coming. Take Duncan … he started having the nightmares again. He told me that – in private. He said it wouldn’t be long before he’d go to Orzammar himself – to die in the deep roads, as it is traditional for the Grey Wardens.’ They sat in silence then, Leliana removing her stick a bit from the fire and leaving the others close to it.

With a slight frown she rose and stole into the darkness. She returned a short while later, slumping onto the ground next to them. ‘We’re being watched. Someone should guard the camp.’

‘I had Morrigan cast some wards,’ Núria said.

Leliana didn’t look very much relieved. ‘Good. I still think we should be careful. I suppose we cannot cover our trail very well, being so many, but we should do our best.’

Alistair looked alarmed. ‘How many are following us, do you know?’

Leliana shook her head and vigorously removed the three sticks from the fire. She kept the one she had set aside earlier and handed the other two to Alistair and Núria. ‘I have no idea, but I think we should be really careful.’ She took a hearty bite off her steak, juice dribbling down her chin. Ivanhoe came trotting to her, placing his head in her lap and turning his eyes up to her food. ‘Oh, most certainly not,’ she scoffed, shooing him away. Ivanhoe trotted off, wincing. Occasionally Leliana peered into the darkness around the camp, but she kept seated by the fire. After a while, Núria caught her staring at her face. Leliana blinked and reached out with one finger, tracing one of the symmetric tattoos on her cheeks. ‘I know that the Dalish almost always have such marks. They’re unique, and sometimes at important points in their lives they add more lines to them. I didn’t know it’s also true for alienages.’

‘It isn’t’ Núria told her. ‘And they don’t have a meaning. I asked our elder to do them for me when I was about thirteen years old. He told me it was unusual, and that it may be frowned upon, but I was quite determined, and I do not regret it. They looked different in the beginning. This line echoed the shape of my eyes. Only my face changed rather a lot with time. I was a slightly chubby child.’

Leliana raised her eyebrows. ‘I cannot imagine that! I have never seen a chubby elf in my life.’

‘Because most of them live in dire poverty,’ Alistair said. ‘The trouble is, no one of importance cares. They’re at the mercy of human lords, and very often such power is abused. I’ve never been to the alienage in Denerim, but Duncan told me that you’d had a hard time there and that I’d better not inquire.’

‘Do me a favour and do as he asked,’ Núria said softly. ‘I may tell you, but not tonight.’

‘You need not tell us at all if it’s too painful,’ Leliana told her gently. ‘I can see that something terrible must have happened.’ Again, her eyes swept over the trees at the edge of their camp.

‘You’re making me antsy,’ Alistair groaned at her. ‘Can we not just go find them?’

Leliana shook her head. ‘No. They’re hiding effectively enough. I only heard something once, and I don’t think we’re going to be attacked just yet.’

‘Oh, how comforting,’ Núria said. ‘When would you think they’ll storm the camp then? In three hours? Or in the first light of dawn?’

Leliana shook her head. ‘I think we’re merely being watched, and my guess would be it’s one person. I’ll watch, and I’ll wake Sten in a few hours. He’ll wake you, and so we’ll all get some sleep. Your dog notices more when he’s resting than all of us do awake, and he’s not too nervous. Yes, I believe there are eyes on us, but perhaps they’re even friendly? Who can say?’

Ϡ

Núria didn’t get much sleep that night. Indeed no one attacked them, and she most certainly didn’t see or hear anyone, but when she sat at the embers of their fire in her shift, Ivanhoe sometimes stirred and growled softly. Núria had her daggers lying in her lap, staring into the night apprehensively, and waited for whatever Morrigan’s wards would do to an intruder. The mage joined her after a while, informing her that there had been two people sneaking around the camp, keeping a distance all the time. She then sent Núria to grab some sleep while she watched for the remainder of the night.

They kept moving all day and camping at night and made their way to Redcliffe in good time. Neither Morrigan nor Leliana noticed anything unusual again, and they stopped keeping watch at night. After a stew made by Alistair they agreed that it would be best if Núria and Leliana did the cooking, and once Morrigan dashed out into the evening, only to return with some leaves she turned into an astoundingly strengthening and savoury salad. That night was the first time she ate with the others, but after that she retreated to her own secluded little fire well away from them. Núria had a hunch that among other reasons she didn’t want to be caught patrolling the area at times during the night, and the thought was much too comforting to confront the apostate and perhaps provoke her to stop doing so.

Finally, one early afternoon, they stood on a hill overlooking Redcliffe. They prepared their camp for the evening, and again, Núria bade Alistair and the two women to accompany her. Sten and Ivanhoe were left behind to guard the camp, and she told them both not to expect her to return too soon. They had heard weird though distant sounds the last night, and there was a sickly stench in the air that spoke very loudly of trouble.


	5. I Am Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((This is going to be somewhat gross, as was probably to be expected. You have been warned ;) The name of the chapter is a quote taken from the Anthem for Santa Cecilia's Day by W.H. Auden.))

Núria looked down at Redcliffe and wondered if they were to enter a normal place any time soon. This was the absolute opposite of the overcrowded Lothering. Not a soul seemed to be around on the streets, only a guard stood on a bridge. When they approached him, he kept his eyes on them, and Núria was dead sure he would delay them. Indeed, when they drew near, he didn’t step aside but stood in front of them, bold as brass. ‘I thought I saw travellers coming down the road, though I scarcely believed it,’ he said, trying and failing to sound matter-of-factly. ‘Have you come to help us?’

Núria was still only half convinced that she had time to help the Arl, let alone a guardsman. ‘Get out of my way, I’m here to help Arl Eamon.’ She hadn’t even paused, intending to simply walk past the man, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. She glared at him, her temper rising.

‘The arl could be dead for all we know,’ he said, looking rather incredulous that anyone might think he was still alive. ‘We’re under attack. Monsters come out of the castle every night and slay everything in their way.’

‘Monsters, is it?’

The guard shuddered at the mere thought. ‘No one knows what they are. I should take you to Bann Teagan, he’s all that’s holding us together. He’ll want to see you.’

‘He’s Arl Eamon’s brother,’ Alistair informed Núria. ‘He’s here?’

‘In the chantry,’ the guard replied. ‘Please, just talk to him.’

Reluctantly, Núria followed. Bann Teagan had some more information for them. He told them that walking corpses in various stages of decay came forth from the castle after nightfall, their numbers increased with every assault. He asked for their help for the attack they expected that night, and Núria unwillingly agreed. Her chances to meet Eamon without helping the village first seemed considerably slim. In the end, Teagan sent her to talk to the mayor, a man named Murdock, and one Ser Perth, who was watching the castle from a windmill on a hill. Núria ignored Morrigan’s indignation at her promise of help as best she could and went to talk to the two men.

By evening Núria had summoned a smith, an elven spy, a cowardly dwarf, and a fat landlord to help in the battle. In return, she had either offered help or very simply not to kill the people in question there and then. For Ser Perth she had procured amulets from the Revered Mother, marvelling at the naïveté of the _shemlen_. Leliana had unearthed barrels of oil that would make a beautiful fire. She hoped fervently that burning monsters would not make the situation worse rather than easier to handle. On her way out of the chantry, a woman stopped her, asking her if she were a Grey Warden and had at any point been in the Korcari Wilds. She turned out to be the owner of the small box she had found along with a testament, and Núria gave it to her before she returned to Ser Perth to wait until nightfall.

Ϡ

Whatever it was that Núria had expected, this was not it. Even when the eerily shimmering dust had risen under the stampede of the onrushing corpses, she had been far too optimistic concerning the things approaching. Somehow, the darkspawn looked like she had imagined risen bodies. But this …

The stench filling the air was incredible. The monsters, as the guard had so euphemistically referred to them, did indeed run through their fire, apparently unaware of it. And though it seemed to harm them, the smell of burning rotten flesh was by no means better than simply the reek of decay. Beside the smell, Núria had to force herself to attack these things at all. Blood and other fluids she did not want to consider splattered her whenever her sword and dagger cut into the bodies, and when one of them fell and landed them both on the ground with her underneath, she thought she would throw up. Morrigan, who had once said she wasn’t a healer, was the only reason why they were still standing when the tides of corpses finally became shorter, but she, too, was weakened. Her voice muttering spells of all sorts was hoarse, and sometimes she leaned on her staff, clutching a stitch in her side. More than once Núria thought Alistair was going to collapse. His head was red from the heat of the nearby fire, and he must be boiling under his mail. Somehow, they all pulled through. Soldiers lay on the ground, dead or wounded, and among them was the mayor. When the fight was finally over, Núria collapsed in a heap at the chantry wall. She sensed Morrigan hovering over her, checking her breath, but then the mage left her alone, for which she was thankful. She fell asleep there, waking stiff-necked and still stinking of corpses early the next morning.

She found the other three at the windmill, all of them bruised and wide eyed. Bann Teagan was with them. ‘Odd how quiet the castle looks from here,’ he said pensively. ‘You would think there is nobody inside at all. But I shouldn’t delay things further. I had a plan to enter the castle after the village is secure. There is a secret passage here, in the mill, accessible only to my family.’

The full meaning of what Teagan said hit Núria like a maul. ‘Weren’t you the one who told me there is only one entrance? I wanted to get in and stop this from the source!’

‘We needed warriors in the village,’ Teagan said desperately. ‘I’m sorry if I –’ He stopped abruptly, staring disconcertingly at a point well behind Núria. She spun around, drawing her blades in one motion. It was not a corpse, however, that approached. It was a woman, and by the looks of her, a noble.

‘Teagan! Thank the Maker you yet live! I do not have much time to explain. I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over, and I must return quickly. And I … need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone.’ Her voice was thick with an Orlesian accent, a much more audible one than Leliana’s.

‘Careful, this could be an ambush,’ Núria said curtly.

The woman looked scandalised. ‘What? Who is this woman?’ Her eye caught Alistair, and a look of disgust formed on her face. Núria felt a sudden urge to punch her and folded her hands behind her back to stop herself.

‘They are Grey Wardens, Lady Isolde,’ Teagan explained, and the disgusted look slipped off her to give way to blank disbelief.

If Alistair had noticed the open disdain in her expression, he didn’t let it show. ‘Please, Lady Isolde, we had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers.’

Again her expression changed. Her shoulders slumped and she looked simply forlorn. ‘I know you need more of an explanation, but I … don’t know what is safe to tell.’ She closed her eyes and shook her head and continued talking while she stared at her hands. ‘Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living.’

Morrigan let out a laugh. ‘Oh, do they? We would never have noticed!’

Isolde didn’t even glance at her as she continued, choosing to talk to the ground near Teagan’s feet instead. ‘I also think … Connor is going mad.’ Morrigan’s eyebrows jumped up, and she shot Núria a significant glance, but the elf preferred to let the woman talk for the moment. ‘We have survived, but he won’t flee the castle. He has seen so much death.’ She grabbed Teagan’s arms. ‘You must help him! You are his uncle … you could reason with him. I do not know what else to do.’

Morrigan stepped closer to Isolde, looking down at the slightly shorter woman, her haughty tone matching her expression. ‘Is there nothing you’ve forgotten?’

Isolde balked, to Núria’s surprise. ‘There is a … an infiltrator. A mage.’ Morrigan looked like a cat that smelled a mouse as Isolde continued. ‘We discovered he was poisoning my husband. That is why Eamon fell ill.’

‘Eamon was poisoned?’ Teagan ejaculated.

Isolde cringed slightly. ‘He claims an agent of Teyrn Loghain’s hired him. He may be lying, however, I cannot say.’

‘Is Eamon still alive?’ Alistair asked anxiously.

For the first time since she had spotted him, Isolde looked at him, and this time without any animosity in her eyes. ‘He is. He is being kept alive, thank the Maker.’

‘Kept alive?’ Teagan voiced the question that had formed in Núria’s head. ‘Kept alive by what?’

Isolde shuddered. ‘Something the mage unleashed.’ Her eyes scanned the area as if she were expecting an attack. ‘So far it allows Eamon, Connor, and myself to live. But the others it killed, and turned their bodies into walking nightmares. Once it was done with the castle, it attacked the village. It allowed me to fetch you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor needed help.’

‘So why must Teagan go alone?’ Núria asked.

‘Because I promised it,’ Isolde said firmly.

‘I suggest that he go with her,’ Morrigan said. ‘Let him look after that Connor, we have an errand of our own.’ Her eyes were boring into Núria’s, and she understood.

‘Yes, Bann Teagan,’ she said. ‘Help Connor.’

‘Isolde, I want a quick word with the Wardens, if you don’t mind,’ he said to her. ‘I assure you, I won’t be long.’ Isolde nodded hastily and fled back to the Castle. ‘Ser Perth can watch for danger at the castle entrance. If you can open the gates from within, they can move in and help you.’ He handed her a signet ring that she concluded opened the secret entrance. ‘Whatever you do, Eamon is the priority here. If you have to, just get him out of there. Isolde, me, and anyone else … we’re expendable.’ With that, he left them.

Apprehensively, Núria and her companions entered the tunnel. She shot a questioning look at Morrigan, who shook her head ever so slightly. Núria knew better than to ask her about her thoughts. The mage would only speak when she was at least marginally certain of something, before, she was silent as a grave; in fact more silent than the graves here, Núria thought savagely.

As they crept through the tunnel, they all expected more walking corpses. What they didn’t expect, was a prisoner, scared beyond his wits but alive. They didn’t even notice him first. All they saw were the undead, reaching into a cell down in what had to be a dungeon. Alistair gave an angry shout and charged at them, slamming his shield into the first corpse. There were only three of them, so it didn’t take long to destroy them. A hand kept stirring on its own accord, and completely revolted, Núria stomped it until it was reduced to a pulp of bones, blood, and rotting flesh. ‘You don’t look like the arlessa’s guards.’ She jumped and found a defeated looking man in the cell, thin and pale from either fear or injury. ‘Are you from outside the castle?’

Núria approached, twisting her dagger in her hand. ‘I’ll ask the questions here.’

The man backed into the wall, his eyes wide with terror. ‘I … yes, I understand.’

‘I don’t want any trouble from you, do you understand me?’ she asked fiercely, stepping closer to the bars and glaring at him.

‘Yes, no trouble from me, I understand.’ Morrigan rolled her eyes and muttered something about a backbone.

‘Who are you?’ Núria demanded.

‘My name is Jowan,’ the prisoner said quickly. ‘I’m a mage Lady Isolde hired to tutor her son, Connor. Until they … threw me into the dungeon here.’ His eyes darted into the corridor, as if he expected more corpses. Morrigan let out a low whistle. Jowan looked at her and the staff that identified her as a mage. He addressed her. ‘I know how this looks, but I’m not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned when all that began. Lady Isolde thinks I summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe. She … had me tortured. There was nothing I could do or say to appease her. So they left me to rot.’

Realising that the mage was no danger in his state even if he wanted, to, Núria sheathed her dagger. ‘Why did you poison Arl Eamon?’

Jowan looked immensely relieved that she was no longer threatening him. ‘I was instructed to by Teyrn Loghain. He said the arl was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him, Loghain would settle things with the Circle. You see, I’m a maleficar. A blood mage.’

‘A blood mage!’ Alistair echoed. ‘Well, _that_ isn’t good.’

Jowan stared at the corpses in the corridor. ‘I dabbled in the forbidden arts and they condemned me to death for it. I thought Loghain was giving me a chance to … redeem myself. But he’s abandoned me here, hasn’t he? Everything’s fallen apart, and I’m responsible. I have to make it right somehow, I have to.’

For the first time in a long while, Núria felt something like pity. She remembered Sten in his cage, whom she had promised atonement. ‘Tell me one more thing. Why did the arlessa need a mage to tutor her son?’

Morrigan snorted. ‘There’s only one reason, isn’t there? She didn’t want her only child carted off to the Circle never to be seen again.’

Jowan nodded at her. ‘Precisely. She sought an apostate, a mage outside the Circle, to teach her son in secret when she found out he had magic. Even the arl had no idea.’

Núria considered for a moment, ignoring her companions discussing whether or not Jowan should be killed as a precaution. ‘How would you make things right?’

‘I’d try to save anyone still up there,’ Jowan said fervently. ‘There must be something I can do.’

Núria sighed. ‘I’m letting you out of your cell. You will … help. I don’t know how you’re going to do that, but for the love of the Maker, don’t make it worse.’ Ignoring Alistair’s objection, Núria opened Jowan’s cell. ‘Let’s not wait for more corpses to rise,’ she told the others. ‘We need to get to that child.’

They made their way into the courtyard, occasionally stopped by more corpses. When they stepped into the open sunlight, a body in armour and with glowing red eyes blocked their way. ‘Oh bother,’ Alistair breathed.

‘Oi!’ a voice called, and Núria reacted at once.

‘Keep my path clear,’ she shouted as she started running across the yard, towards the gates. The courtyard was full of the creatures, some firing arrows at them from above. Another two came to stand in her way, but one of them got somehow sidetracked and stumbled into the other, hindering its progress. Núria sidestepped them and kept running. She reached the lever that opened the gate and pulled it down with force. Ser Perth and a handful of soldiers charged into the yard, flinging themselves at the bodies. Núria looked for Alistair in the chaos, found him, and with a shout attacked the tall undead. A rushing sound approached, and a spell froze the creature in an almost comical posture. Alistair let his shield fall and lifted his sword over his head with both hands, bringing it down in a huge swipe and felling the body for good.

Morrigan walked over and nudged it with a foot. ‘And that was a revenant. A rather weak one, for that matter. I suppose that means we are facing either a demon of pride or desire.’

Núria blinked. ‘And now we slew it?’

‘I never noticed you to be prone to wishful thinking. This was a demon, but there is at least one more. Let’s end this, I want to get back to my little fire and get this horrible stench out of my nose.’

Ϡ

Núria had not expected Connor to be a normal child. She had expected him to be angry, fierce, and cruel. Still, when she saw him forcing his will on Bann Teagan, making him hop and twist in ways that had to hurt, perhaps injure the man, she shivered. ‘Don’t let this get to you,’ Morrigan whispered in her ear as they tried to converse with the possessed child. In the end, the demon turned out to be a coward. The boy ran, forcing Teagan and a few others to attack. Núria hit Teagan with the pommel of her dagger, but a few of the others were less lucky. Another couple of corpses for the demon, then.

Isolde was reduced to tears. Núria watched her dissolve with a fierce satisfaction, feeling that the foolish woman deserved the pain she was going through. The task at hand troubled her too, however. It seemed like the only way to free Redcliffe was to chase Connor and kill him. And just when she was about to say she would do so, Jowan appeared.

He explained, very patiently and much more composed than before, that there was another way; that he needed someone to die for the child’s sake, if another mage was willing to enter the Fade. Núria looked at Morrigan, who frowned at her, but nodded all the same. And they also had a sacrifice: Isolde was willing to die for her son’s sake, and an angry voice inside Núria said that this was only justified. Jowan could redeem himself, and so could Isolde.

So a few minutes later, Isolde was kneeling on the floor while Jowan’s hand was poised over her head. The mage was muttering under his breath, and a golden light surrounded both of them. Morrigan stood close, watching apprehensively, braced for the power that would cast her spirit into the Fade.

Núria held her breath when blood surged from Lady Isolde’s chest without any visible wound, splattering the ground with a pattern of glistening red. Her back arched and she soared into the air, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream and arms dangling limply at her sides, before she crumbled on the floor in the pool of her own blood. Morrigan gave an anguished moan, blood, although less than before, emerging from her chest as well. As she fell beside the lady, Leliana rushed to her lifeless form while Núria charged at Jowan, knocking him to the ground. Her dagger found his throat, and she would have killed him if it hadn’t been for Leliana’s exclamation that Morrigan was breathing. ‘She’s only sleeping, she’ll be fine,’ Jowan promised, frozen with fear, and Núria positively wrenched herself away from him. She glanced at Alistair, who was wearing an expression that said, ‘I told you so’. Then she dropped to the floor, resting her head against the wall and closing her eyes, determined not to open them before Morrigan had re-awoken.

It didn’t take long. Morrigan came to with a groan and stood up at once. She looked slightly pale, but otherwise unharmed. ‘It is done,’ she said simply. Núria wanted to ask her what had happened, but Morrigan shook her head fiercely. ‘You left me no real choice in this. At least don’t ask about it.’

Núria felt a surge of guilt. She nodded and looked at Teagan. ‘I want Jowan released.’ The mage blinked at her but otherwise kept his face straight. ‘He didn’t betray us, he saved Connor. Let him go.’

Teagan shook his head. ‘Eamon has to decide that. If he dies, his life is forfeit.’

‘Then I will find this Urn,’ Núria said firmly. ‘Until then you will not hurt a hair on his head.’

Teagan nodded. ‘It may be foolish to build our hopes on a legend, but it’s all we have. There is a scholar in Denerim –’

‘Genitivi, I know,’ Núria cut him short. ‘Let’s see why he is so hard to find that all the knights of Redcliffe failed.’ She turned to face her companions. ‘Denerim it is then – but first, a little fire for Morrigan.’ As they exited, Jowan thanked Núria hastily.

She stopped to look at him and even smiled, quite despite herself. ‘Thank me when the arl is safe and you are free. She sighed, knowing she had done all she could. Why, then, did she feel so bad about all that had happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((If you found that the scene with Isolde’s sacrifice closely mirrors the description of one Katie Bell touching a cursed necklace, that will be due to the fact that this is exactly what I thought of when I saw it happen. I tried to phrase it in a way that was less reminiscent of that scene, but it sounded so awkwardly artificial that I changed it back. If you have no clue what I’m talking about it’s just as well ;) ))


	6. Cry Havoc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((This chapter heading is a Shakespeare quote, I believe from Julius Caesar.))

Tired though she was, Núria forced herself to stay away from her bedroll for another moment. She had to make up her mind what to do the next morning and held the map she’d acquired in Lothering loosely in one hand, looking for a convenient place at their camp to study it. She felt a strong hand grip her arm and was beginning to get annoyed at people stopping her like that. Forcibly, she twisted free and shot Alistair a reproachful look. ‘What?’

‘We need to talk about what happened,’ he said firmly. The look on his face didn’t bode well.

Núria was still exhausted and decided she had no time to discuss morals. ‘You were there, you saw what happened.’

Alistair stepped right into her path and glared at her. ‘You let Lady Isolde sacrifice herself! With blood magic! How could you do that?’

‘Oh, yes, I should rather have killed Connor, as you said,’ she replied fiercely, all too aware of the others’ eyes on them.

‘We could have gone to the Circle of Magi for help,’ he said fervently, but Núria cut him short.

‘And lose how much time exactly, in which Connor might have killed so many others? No, Alistair, we could not. Unless you think the lives of a bunch of villagers and soldiers count less than the life of Isolde.’

Even before he answered, she saw on his face that he wouldn’t back down so easily. ‘What of Eamon? What do you think he’ll say once we revive him?’

‘Maybe we shouldn’t revive him, then,’ Núria answered coldly.

Alistair looked at her as though she had hit him. ‘I just don’t know how you could do it, how you could make that decision. I owe the arl more than this.’

Núria threw her arms up. ‘Well, you know what the answer is, then.’ Alistair blinked. ‘Take the lead. Stop pawning it off to me and berating me afterwards. If you don’t want that, leave me be!’ She pushed past him towards a flat stone and slapped the map forcibly onto it. ‘We’re going to the Circle of Magi now,’ she called back at him. ‘It’s almost on the road to Denerim, and we must go there, obviously.’ She glared at Alistair. ‘If you think differently, say so. And if you say so, you can bear the albatross for a change, and I’ll be the one stabbing your back whenever I don’t agree with what you’re doing. How would you like that?’

‘No … We go to the Circle of Magi,’ Alistair answered softly and left her standing at the stone. She kicked it and started studying the map.

‘A leader has to stand by his decisions,’ a deep voice behind her said.

Núria turned her head to look up at Sten, who had come up behind her. He gave her a very questioning look, and Núria was well aware that she should definitely not say the wrong thing now. ‘I did that. Besides, a leader also knows their followers. And I know that Alistair, when challenged to take the lead, will eat his words.’

‘How could you know?’

Núria shrugged. ‘Because he knows what is good for him.’ Sten clearly understood the warning behind the words. With a nod, he retreated. For the first time she thought there was something like respect for her in his eyes.

Another fall of footsteps approached her, though lighter. Leliana sat down beside her. ‘I lied to you, you know? About why I left Orlais.’

‘What?’ Núria asked without looking up from her map.

‘I came to Ferelden and the Chantry because I was hunted.’ With a sigh, Núria folded her map and glanced at her. ‘I was framed, betrayed by someone I thought I knew and could trust. Marjolaine … she was my mentor, and my friend.’

‘If this is your way of telling me I messed up I’ll tell you the same as Alistair,’ Núria said warily, but Leliana shook her head.

‘No … no, it’s nothing to do with that. I know why you did it. It was not an easy decision, and I am not sure if there was a good solution at all.’ The bard rose and started to leave.

‘Leliana, tell me about Marjolaine,’ Núria said. She hadn’t wanted to push the young woman away.

Leliana sat back down, smiling. ‘She taught me the bardic arts, how to enchant with words and song, to carry myself like a high-born lady, to blend in as a servant … The skills I learned I used to serve her, my bard master, because I loved her, and because I enjoyed what I did.’ She let out a sigh. ‘My devotion to her blinded me to her … less than noble attributes. You can say it was my fault. There was a man I was sent to kill. I was to bring Marjolaine everything he carried. I don’t know who this man was. She gave me a name and a description, and I hunted him down. I found documents on his body – sealed documents.’

‘You opened them, didn’t you?’ Núria asked with a slightly amused expression.

Leliana nodded. ‘My curiosity got the better of me. Something told me I needed to know what was in those letters. Marjolaine … had been selling all kinds of information about Orlais to other countries – Nevarra and Antiva, among others. It was treason.’

‘Isn’t that what bards do?’ Núria asked, hoping she wouldn’t offend Leliana if it wasn’t.

‘Some,’ she replied. ‘But I had always assumed Marjolaine only operated within Orlais. This was an unhappy surprise for me. I was scared for her. Orlais takes a harsh view on such things.’

‘As do most countries,’ Núria said.

Leliana’s expression was distant when she continued. ‘When I told Marjolaine about my concern, she brushed it aside. She admitted her guilt, but said it was in the past. That is why the documents had to be destroyed, she said. I believed her. I kept believing up to the moment they showed me the documents, altered by her hand to make _me_ look the traitor.’ Núria swallowed and said nothing. ‘I was captured. They did terrible things to make me confess and reveal my conspirators. It was a traitor’s punishment I endured, and at the end of it, all that awaited me was eternity in an unmarked grave.’

It struck Núria that the mere fact this person was sitting next to her was close to a miracle. ‘How did you get out?’

The bard grinned at her. ‘The skills I learned from Marjolaine were good for something at least. I broke free when I saw the opportunity. And though I was tempted to do so, I did not seek out Marjolaine. I feared she would have me caught again. So I fled to Ferelden instead, to the chantry and the Maker. Ferelden protected my person, and the Maker saved my soul.’ She looked imploringly at Núria. ‘Are you very angry now?’

Núria let out a breath she hadn’t known she had held. ‘No. I’m not … And … you’re safe with me. I’ll not let them get you.’ Leliana offered her a small watery smile and left hastily. With her anger at Alistair gone, Núria took her map and went to sleep for the rest of the night, even though it wasn’t very much.

Ϡ

Every evening during their journey to the north, Núria took three of her companions with her to look for a secure and possibly sheltered spot for the camp, leaving the other two to guard their luggage. Travelling between rocks strewn along and on their path, it turned out to be the most effortless method. The third evening they found the road leading into a short and low valley between two cliffs of clay. Núria had, as often, picked Leliana, Alistair, and Morrigan, and they just wanted to turn and find some place on the side of the road and well before the valley, when a woman with greying hair came running towards them. She was so agitated she nearly collided with Núria. ‘Oh, thank the Maker! We need help! They attacked the wagon! Please help us!’

For one moment Núria wondered who _they_ might be, following the stranger cautiously. Darkspawn she would have felt. There was something wrong. She strained her ears, following the woman, trying to pick up any sound that indicated human life. There was nothing. No clashes of weapons, no cries of pain. Assuming that the attackers had left, why was one person completely unharmed? Núria spotted a dead cow somewhere ahead behind a broken down wagon, she would have to hear moans of pain, vaguely perhaps, but still … She exchanged glances with Alistair and Morrigan. The mage mouthed ‘Ambush,’ and Núria nodded curtly. This seemed far too wrong to be anything else.

The moment her eyes fell on the elf standing proudly beside the wagon, she knew that Morrigan’s suspicion had been right. She watched as more people emerged from behind rocks and trees at one sign of his hand. She saw a tree falling where she stood and jumped out of its way, heard the elf yell something harsh, and the next moment someone was on her. Literally, with one of Leliana’s arrows in his back. She made a mental note to thank the Orlesian.

Núria got to her feet quickly. The bandits were fighting too well for robbers, she found. She engaged the leader in combat, drawing him away from the others. His expression was focussed, his movements elegant and faster than anyone’s she knew. He let Leliana’s fighting skill pale in comparison. He evaded her attacks almost easily and managed to break through her defence at the same time. Only when Alistair’s shield collided with his skull, he staggered, and her weapons finally struck home, leaving deep gashes in the elf’s right side. She panted a hasty thanks to Alistair and followed him up the cliffs to where a handful of archers where shooting at them. The fall of their leader had dispirited them, however, and they were overcome quickly. Núria returned to the elf lying sprawled on the ground. She felt a wave of deep respect for the man she knew would have killed her if she had been alone, but then she saw his chest rising ever so slightly. She motioned to Leliana, who tied him deftly, although he was too badly injured to try and run anyway. Then, Núria emptied a bottle of water on his face.

A low moan left his lips before his eyes focussed on her, and a look that in any other situation she would have read as disappointment formed on his face. He twisted to lie on his left side, and a fresh gust of blood emerged from his right. ‘I rather thought I would wake up dead,’ he said, his voice stronger than she would have expected. He had an accent she did not quite recognise, but otherwise he spoke perfectly. ‘Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven’t killed me yet.’

‘Quiet,’ she said harshly. ‘You’ll answer when spoken to.’

He managed a grin and a low chuckle. ‘Ooh, you’re rather an aggressive little minx, aren’t you? Lovely too.’ Núria barely believed what she heard and felt a lot like kicking him in his ribs. On his right side, preferably. ‘But if it’s questions you’re planning on asking me, let me save you a little time and get right to the point. My name is Zevran … Zev, to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.’

‘Antivan … what?’ Núria asked.

‘I can tell you that,’ Leliana said behind her, sounding awed. ‘They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done … so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.’ Zevran managed to give Leliana a slightly haughty nod, which was rather an accomplishment for someone in his position.

While that explained who he was, it didn’t tell her why on earth someone in a country she had practically no knowledge of would want her dead. ‘You came all the way here from Antiva?’

‘Not precisely,’ Zevran said. His left arm started quavering underneath him, but he managed to control himself and remain propped up somehow. Her respect grew. The man was dying, but he did not seem in the least disconcerted. ‘I was in the neighbourhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see?’

There was an excellent chance the man was dying on her, so Núria continued quickly. ‘Who hired you?

‘A rather taciturn fellow in the capital,’ he replied. ‘Loghain, I think his name was? Yes that’s it.’

When the assassin’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, Núria turned to Morrigan. ‘Keep him alive.’ She heard a whispered spell behind her. ‘How much were you paid?’

Indeed, Zevran’s voice was a little stronger after Morrigan’s help. ‘I wasn’t paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand.’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ she asked then, unable to help herself.

‘Why not?’ he countered. ‘I wasn’t paid for silence. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely.’ He shot a look at Morrigan, and something like hope flickered in his eyes. ‘If you’re done interrogating me, I would like to make an offer.’ Morrigan snorted, but Zevran continued, returning his gaze on Núria. ‘Here’s the thing … I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That’s how it works. If you don’t kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows a pause. So let me serve you instead.’

Núria thought of pointing out to him that if she didn’t kill him, he would bleed to death anyway. ‘Can I expect the same amount of loyalty you obviously feel towards Loghain?’ she asked instead.

‘I happen to be a very loyal person,’ Zevran claimed, and Morrigan let out a harsh laugh. ‘Up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing,’ he continued, nodding at the mage. ‘That’s not a fault really, is it?’

Núria shook her head minutely and drew her dagger to finish the man for good once she had an answer to her last question. He either didn’t notice, or he thought she would cut him loose. ‘And just why would I want your service?’

‘I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks,’ Zevran explained.

‘Thanks, I don’t need help for that,’ Núria said.

‘I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more … sophisticated, now that my attempts have failed,’ he offered without any haste. ‘I could also stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors? No?’

Núria shook her head. ‘No. I refuse your offer.’

Zevran relaxed visibly, looking at the dagger in her hand. ‘Ah, well, I suppose fair is indeed fair. What is it to be, then? All I ask is that you don’t eat my remains or anything … barbaric. I have nightmares about that sort of thing.’

Núria looked down at him, at the composed face of a person who was at her mercy. She couldn’t move. He was mortally wounded and unarmed, and if she didn’t ask Morrigan to heal him properly, she would do him a favour by ending this, but she couldn’t. ‘I’ll give you that, you’re very brave,’ she told him and looked at Morrigan. ‘Help him.’

The mage gaped at her. ‘Pardon me, I didn’t hear right.’

Núria simply shook her head.

‘Wait a minute!’ Alistair said abruptly. ‘You’re not really taking him with us, are you?’

Núria spun around and glared at him. She pressed her dagger into his hand. ‘You kill him if you want him dead so badly.’ Núria turned on her heel and stepped away from the others. She heard the soft rush of magic behind her and turned, ready to beat Morrigan to a pulp if she had killed him, but on the face of the elf there was relief, and Alistair held the dagger loosely by his side, unmoving. Slowly she walked back, took her blade from Alistair, and cut the ropes tying Zevran’s hands and feet before she offered him her hand to help him stand.

‘I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such time as you choose to release me from it,’ Zevran said solemnly. ‘I am your man, without reservation … this I swear.’

Núria was slightly taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. She nodded. ‘We’ll camp where the others are waiting. I guess you were spying on us?’ Zevran nodded with a slight smile. ‘Well, in that case I suppose no one will be watching us now anyway. _You_ give me your weapons and walk where I can see you. Don’t make a fast movement, or I might change my mind.’

Ϡ

Morrigan’s spell had closed the wound in Zevran’s side, but he had lost a lot of blood. He sat at the fire, looking slightly helpless as he tried to get warm while the others pitched the tents. Sten had eyed him very suspiciously, but at a hard glare from Núria he had left him alone. Ivanhoe had taken to him at once and sat beside him, his head in the elf’s lap. When the tents were standing, Alistair disappeared into his with only a muttered good-night in Núria’s general direction, while Leliana marched her over to Zevran and sat them both down, with the Grey Warden in the middle, wearing a look of excitement about their recent find. Núria realised that she was probably seated between the two most dangerous people she had ever met.

‘So, you come from Antiva,’ Leliana said. ‘I know an Antivan song.’

Zevran smiled, if slightly doubtfully so. ‘Yes? Can I hear it?’

Leliana beamed. ‘Of course!’ She stood. ‘I have no idea what it’s about, a merchant taught me the words, but he never said what they meant. Oh, and don’t expect too much, it’s a rather short song.’ Zevran raised his eyebrows, and Leliana began to sing, the quick language fitting the rhythm of the song perfectly.

 

_‘Compadre debes saber,_

_que la más buena mujer,_

_rabia siempre por hoder,_

_harta bien la tuya tú._

_Compadre has de guardar,_

_para nunca encornudar,_

_si tu mujer sale a mear,_

_sal junto con ella tú.’_

Núria didn’t understand a word, obviously, but Zevran’s expression changed very quickly from curious to baffled and from there to a wild sort of glee until he was shaking with suppressed laughter. When Leliana was done, he rose and kissed her full on the mouth, ignoring how she stiffened with her eyes wide in shock. ‘You made my day, woman,’ he told her fervently, laughing at her flummoxed look.

‘W-what?’ Leliana made, grinning awkwardly.

‘If I’m any good at reading people, I’d say you either messed up the words really badly, or it is a bawdy song,’ Núria said patiently, and Leliana blushed crimson.

The assassin ushered Leliana back to Núria. ‘So, what am I to call you both?’ He threw an arm each around their shoulders and glanced at Leliana. ‘I can barely keep calling you woman, considering that you’re not the only one.’

‘Leliana,’ she said slightly breathlessly, and he glanced at Núria.

‘Núria,’ she told him.

Zevran stared at her. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘Ooooh, I told you,’ Leliana said suddenly. ‘It’s an Antivan name, isn’t it?’

Zevran smiled. ‘Indeed. You don’t look at all Antivan, though.’ His fingers touched the tips of her light hair and his eyes scanned her features. ‘This is confusing. I should call you Kira instead.’

Núria blinked. This man was rather overwhelming. ‘Perhaps I should … Oh, never mind. How’s Antiva different to Ferelden?’

‘In more ways than I could enumerate,’ he replied. ‘It is warmer, even though it rains more often. But the flowers are always in bloom, or so the saying goes.’ His chest swelled with pride as he continued. ‘I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?’

‘Have you ever seen Val Royaux?’ Leliana asked.

‘Alas, I haven’t, although I have heard it’s a most beautiful place,’ he replied. ‘I do know the wine from Val Royaux, and I had the pleasure to enjoy a most stunning noble woman from there.’

Leliana smirked. ‘Well, that’s something.’

‘I’m afraid I do not come from a gem,’ Núria said calmly.

‘Then you should most certainly one day visit one,’ Zevran informed her. ‘You cannot possibly claim to have lived a good life without such a pleasure.’ He sighed, and suddenly he looked wistful. ‘You know what is most odd? We speak of my home and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties, and the lillo-flutes of the minstrels … I miss the leather the most.’

Núria and Leliana exchanged glances. ‘The leather?’ Leliana echoed.

The Antivan’s face lit up with enthusiasm. ‘I mean the smell. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City’s leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained about it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home, more than anything else.’ Leliana let out a soft sound of disgust, and Núria laughed. ‘Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship. Ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, “Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward for a job well done!” More fool I, no?’ The easy smile had left his face, and without knowing what she was doing, Núria placed a hand on his forearm.

‘Your home is still there, Zevran,’ she said softly.

As Zevran smiled at her, Leliana rose slowly, and, with a nod at Núria, left quietly as a cat. ‘One simply never knows what is to come next,’ the Antivan said. ‘How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a beautiful Grey Warden, who then spares my life? I could not.’

Núria smiled slightly. ‘Beautiful, is it?’

‘I say you are beautiful because it is true,’ he replied simply and with a shrug. ‘Should I not?’

Núria felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘No, by all means.

Zevran’s smile widened. ‘And glad I am to hear it.’ He frowned at the empty space on his right. ‘Oh, our minstrel has retired, yes? Did I stare at you so badly that she thought I would ravish you at any given moment?’

Núria had the distinct impression that it was rather the other way round, but she did not tell him so. Instead she laughed, standing up herself. ‘I suppose she realised that it’s late and we will be walking all day tomorrow. You … you can have your weapons back. I have a feeling if you wanted to kill us to keep them from you wouldn’t stop you.’ She tossed a bag at him in which she had stored them. ‘Good night, Zevran. You should get some rest, tomorrow will be a hard day.’ As she walked towards her tent she thought she heard a muttered, ‘Good night, Kira,’ behind her.


	7. Leaving Concepts of Innocence and Guilt …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Alas, I'm quoting things again. The headlines for this and the next chapter are two lines of a song called Wasting My Day.))

On the journey north, Núria learned that she didn’t need a map with Zevran around. Although he said that he had never been to the tower of Magi, he claimed to know the shortest path anyway. At first she had consulted the map at every juncture, only to find that he indeed knew. When asked why, he simply shrugged and said he had a thing for geography.

The night before they reached the tower, they camped within shouting range of the docks. In the morning Núria set out to go to speak to the Circle alone. Alistair would perhaps not be received too warmly, not to mention Morrigan. Sten did not approve of magic, and she wanted Leliana to watch Zevran. He had not made an attempt to leave or do any harm so far, but she considered it better to be careful. She had asked the bard in private to keep an eye on the assassin. Morrigan and Alistair need not know that her trust in him was not quite as deep as she tried to convince them.

At least the small village – consisting of some five houses or so – was not forsaken. There was even a small inn. A slightly thickset man regarded her closely but with a benevolent expression. She ignored him and gathered a few of the leaves Morrigan had pointed out to her a while ago. ‘Wow, I’ve never seen one of you knife-ears dressed like the king of Ferelden before,’ he said. ‘You made good for yourself, eh?’

‘Excuse me?’ she asked, wondering if he was foolish or brave for addressing her, armed as she was, like that.

The stranger raised his arms. ‘Oh, I don’t mean no offence. I know I shoot my mouth off … I’m just not used to your kind trussed up all fancy.’

Núria pocketed her leaves and crossed her arms before her chest. ‘You mean you’re used to seeing us as slaves or servants.’

The man went a shade paler. ‘Oh, there I go again. I don’t mean nothing by it, I swear. I should … I should start over. I’m mighty pleased to be making your acquaintance, miss.’ Núria gave a vague nod of acknowledgement. ‘I’m the ferryman, leastwise I used to be. Poor old Kester, out of a job.’

Núria glanced at the pier. ‘Why replace you with a templar?’

He shrugged. ‘Greagoir just came down, and said, “Don’t you worry, Kester. We got it all under control, we do.” Didn’t say nothing else. And then he puts Carroll in charge of my boat, Lissie! Named for my grandmum, she was.’

Núria glanced at the tower looming darkly over the lake and felt a sense of foreboding. ‘Who’s Greagoir?’

‘He’s knight commander of the templars up in the tower,’ Kester explained. ‘Good man.’

‘Is something wrong up there?’ she asked anxiously. She had hoped to be able to move on to Denerim today and from there to wherever Genitivi sent her. If they were delayed …

‘I told you, they didn’t tell me nothing,’ Kester said slightly indignantly. ‘And if I know them mages, I’m better off keeping out of their business.’

Núria glanced at the templar again and sighed. ‘I have to leave, Kester. Good evening.’ Bracing herself, she approached the templar on the pier. She was not really surprised when he stuck out his arm, palm forward, to signal her to stop before she even had set foot on it.

‘No one gets to the tower,’ he said forcefully.

Núria decided not to throw him into the lake just yet. ‘As a Grey Warden I demand to be brought to the tower.’

The templar smirked. ‘Oh, you’re a Grey Warden, are you? Prove it.’

‘I don’t have to prove anything to you,’ she informed him coldly.

‘So I’m not good enough for you?’ The templar looked down at her, and she started to get angry. ‘Fine. See if you get into the tower on your own.’

Núria rummaged in her bag and produced the leaves she had just collected. ‘Do you know what this is?’ she asked conversationally.

The templar blinked. ‘These plants you find everywhere around the lake. You should be careful with them, they’re poisonous.’

‘You don’t say,’ Núria said with a grin. She glared at him. ‘If you don’t want these stuffed down your throat, you bring me to that bleeding tower. I need to see the first enchanter.’ The templar’s defence crumbled almost too quickly. Before he could answer, she said: ‘I’ll be back in a minute. You’d better not argue with me when I come back.’ She turned on her heel and went back to the camp. Something seemed to be amiss in the tower, and she would certainly not face whatever that was alone.

At last, Núria approached the templar again – with Alistair and Morrigan, no less. Zevran had asked to come along, too, and she had obliged. She trusted him more under her gaze than anywhere else. She had also given him the leaves she had gathered, asking him if he had any use for them. He had eyed them closely and told her that he would indeed be able to turn them into a potent poison.

The templar had scrutinised her companions suspiciously, but at a glare from her he had refrained from asking any questions. He brought them to a harried looking elderly man, who gave a few commands to more templars running about the entrance hall. Núria assumed he was Greagoir. Finally, he rounded on them. ‘We are dealing with a very delicate situation. You must leave, for your own safety.’

‘No,’ Núria said firmly. ‘The mages have an obligation to the Grey Wardens.’

He huffed impatiently. ‘You’ll find no allies here. The templars can spare no men, and the mages are … indisposed. I shall speak plainly. The tower is no longer under our control. Abominations and demons stalk the tower’s halls. The Circle is lost. The tower has fallen.’

‘For a fallen tower it seems quite firm,’ Morrigan commented, probing the stone wall with her thumb.

Greagoir ushered them towards the door. ‘Just … leave. I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment.’

‘We’re not leaving,’ Núria told the templar boldly, not caring in the slightest what right he wanted exactly. ‘I’ll deal with the abominations, and you will help me in return.’

Greagoir stopped motioning them towards the exit. ‘If, by some miracle, you destroy the abominations, yes – the templars will join your army. Without word from Denerim, I must determine our course. Surely destroying darkspawn is a worthy goal.’ He indicated the barred door leading on into the tower. ‘Once you’re in there I’m not going to let you out without proof that it is safe. I will only believe it is over if the first enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen … then the Circle is lost, and must be destroyed. May Andraste lend you her courage, whatever you decide.’

Núria nodded and waited for the door to be opened for them.

Alistair leaned in towards her as they crossed the hall. ‘As I recall, shutting the door and throwing away the key was definitely the templar Plan B.’ Bodies lay on the ground and there was blood on the walls. It was dried there in glistening drops. They reached a door and heard sobbing from behind it. Exchanging a glance with Alistair, Núria opened the door.

The first thing she noticed were the kids in the room, trying to hide behind the three adult women. One of them, an elderly mage, raised her arms and cast a fierce spell at – a _thing_ , a wavering, ever-changing shape looming before her, bright as fire. With a pang Núria realised she was facing a demon, but before she could attack, the spell blew the shape into smouldering sparks that quickly lost all their light.

The mage – the very one she had spoken to in Ostagar, she saw – spun around, facing them, ready to attack them as well. ‘No! Come no further, Grey Warden or no, I will strike you down where you stand!’

Núria froze in her tracks. ‘I’m here to help. Are there still people alive behind this …?’ She indicated the door behind the mage. A light blue fire was flickering before it, hindering anyone trying to cross it.

‘There might be,’ the woman said, looking none too hopeful. ‘I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children. You will not be able to enter the tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you join me to save the Circle.’

Núria nodded at her and was going to say something, but she was interrupted. ‘You want to assist this preachy schoolmistress?’ Morrigan demanded sharply. ‘They allow themselves to be corralled like cattle, mindless. Now their masters have chosen death for them, and I say let them have it.’

Núria looked at her. ‘If you want no part in this, you can return to the camp. I need the assistance of the Circle. I shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place.’

‘So now you think you send me back like a child that has been insolent?’ Morrigan scoffed.

‘No,’ Núria said patiently. ‘I send you back because you are biased; because you can’t _not_ be biased.’

‘That Greagoir won’t let me out,’ Morrigan pointed out.

‘Charm him,’ Núria suggested. She looked at the elderly mage. ‘Can we?’

She nodded, exchanged a few words with the two other women, and approached the barrier. She looked at it and sighed. ‘I am somewhat amazed at myself for having kept it in place this long. Be prepared for anything. I do not know what manner of beasts lurk behind this barrier.’

‘Do not fear, good lady,’ Zevran told her, speaking for the first time since they had left the camp. ‘Our Grey Warden is very good at fending off attackers. Speaking from experience here.’

The mage – Wynne, she remembered – offered him a warm smile. ‘All right, then. Be on your guard.’ At a movement of her hand, the bright blue fire flickered and went out. Apprehensively, Núria opened the door and stepped behind it.

They found shades, demons, and to their great discomfort more walking corpses behind the door. Núria had no way of telling the difference between the first two, but then again, she didn’t care. Somehow one of the tranquil, a man named Owain, had managed to survive in the chaos. He didn’t even want to get out. Instead, he told them quite firmly – for a tranquil – that he was going to remain where he was, before the stockroom, in familiar territory. He mentioned a mage named Niall, who could offer protection against blood magic and suggested that they look for him.

Moving up in the tower, the air grew colder, and what Núria had taken to be blood on the walls downstairs turned out to be something more worrisome by far. In her mind she referred to it as growth, and when asked about it, Wynne simply shrugged. What looked like bulbs of flesh was growing on pillars and walls, pulsating slowly, and Núria felt deeply disgusted. She caught Zevran eyeing one of the things very closely, before he backed away, a slight shiver running through his body. If anything, the fact that this could scare someone who had looked death in the eye with perfect calm increased her feeling of unease.

Wynne turned out to be a positive force rather than a person. Unlike Morrigan she did not attack that much, but she shielded them from the worst while they kept her out of harm’s way by killing whatever tried to get close to her. Zevran on the other hand … Núria had intended to keep a careful eye on him, but at that she failed magnificently. One moment he was there, then they crossed a threshold behind which a group of mad templars were waiting for whatever got in their way, and he was gone … just to appear out of nowhere to ram his dagger into a demon that in all the chaos Núria hadn’t even noticed.

Leaving the templars to Alistair, she ran to him. ‘How are you doing this?’ Núria tried to get a good slash at the demon herself.

‘Training,’ the answer came simply. As Núria ducked an attack from the demon, he swept his dagger over her head into the side of the creature. ‘You are talented, you could learn that, and quickly, I daresay.’

Finding a soft spot between two ribs of the demon, Núria stabbed it and brought it to its knees. ‘Would you teach me?’

Zevran severed the head of the thing with a swipe of his sword. ‘No. I swore to the Crows that the things they taught me were to remain a secret. And while, yes, they are already angry at me … I’d rather not push things. You see?’ He glanced back at the other two who were still fighting the templars.

‘I didn’t really think so,’ Núria said lightly and went to help.

Zevran sunk his dagger into the neck of one of them. ‘Give me some time, yes? As I said, the Crows will kill me anyway if they get a chance. Who knows?’

Núria flashed him a bright smile and hooked her foot into the knee of the last templar that was still fighting to make him fall. A rare offensive spell from Wynne made sure he would never stand up again.

Zevran turned out to be much easier to watch when she talked to him. Also, it was easier to ignore the growth that was increasing in size with every step. He told her he had been born in a whorehouse and sold to the Crows at the age of seven. Núria felt glad she had never complained about the alienage – his life had certainly not been easier than hers, rather the contrary. And despite this, there was no bitterness in him as he told her all this, he managed to joke between and during fights, and he kept flirting with her as well as Wynne all through the tower. That, too, she assumed was less than half serious, but still she felt herself going a brilliant shade of red when he suggested she shed her clothes to pass unscathed right to the source of the tragedy in the tower because she would be believed to be a demon of desire.

When they found an actual desire demon and a templar at her hands, he had the sense to keep his mouth closed, however. ‘What in Andraste’s name is going on here?’ Núria demanded as the desire demon was rubbing up against the templar, who had a glazed look in his eyes.

‘Do you hear something, love?’ he asked in a thick voice.

‘It is nothing, my darling,’ she assured him in a sultry voice. She looked like a very beautiful woman, save for her skin, which was pale grey, the elaborate horns, and a long, swishing tail. And she was wearing virtually nothing. ‘Just the door. I will get it.’ She left him standing there, and he kept gazing at the spot where she had been. Núria would not have been overly astounded if he had started drooling. ‘You are intruding upon a loving, intimate moment, and I dislike disruptions,’ the demon informed Núria calmly.

‘You have this templar ensorcelled, don’t you?’ she answered similarly indifferently.

The demon ran a hand over her breast in what she seemed to consider a seductive manner. ‘Happiness is bewitching.’ Whom she wanted to impress by this, Núria was not sure. ‘There is a certain power in all things mortals delight in. I have given him what he always wanted. Where is the harm in that?’

‘You’re deceiving him. I would consider that harmful.’

The demon tilted her head and sighed. ‘All emotion is intangible. You cannot see it, you cannot grasp it.’

‘But it is normally caused by something real,’ Wynne pressed her. ‘What you’ve done to him … is abhorrent!’

The demon looked at the elderly mage. There was no anger in her voice when she spoke. ‘I saw his loneliness and longing for a family that loved him.’

Zevran smirked. ‘Hmm, companionship that is only in the mind. All the fun, none of the clean-up.’

The demon nodded at him. ‘No-one else would have known his heart.’ The look she gave the templar could even pass as loving. ‘He did not know it himself.’

‘So you think you’re doing a good thing?’ Núria asked incredulously.

‘We are partners,’ the demon answered. ‘I give him what no one else can, and through him, I experience what it is to be mortal.’ She tilted her head and stepped closer to Núria than the elf would have preferred. ‘I want nothing from you. All I ask is that you leave us alone.’

Núria frowned slightly. ‘What will become of you if I leave you?’

‘Perhaps we will escape, perhaps we will not.’

Núria looked at her companions in hope of some advice, but the most she received was a small shrug from Zevran. She shook her head. ‘Very well. I’ll let you … go on with whatever you’re doing.’

‘You have my thanks, if that means anything to you,’ the demon said, looking friendly enough. ‘You will not see us again.’ In a cloud of smoke, she vanished together with her companion.

Núria looked at Wynne and Alistair. ‘Before you go biting my head off, if I had forced a fight, we would have had to kill them both. This way at least he’ll die happy.’

Alistair raised his shoulders. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t going to say anything.’ He stared at where the couple had been moments before. ‘I don’t even know what to think about something … that … bizarre.’

They left the room quickly. ‘Another flight of stairs?’ Zevran asked when they approached the door to the room in the centre of the tower. ‘Just how high is this thing?’

‘A little higher still, I’m afraid,’ Wynne informed him regretfully, opening the door. There was another demon on the other side, and when it started talking Núria decided rather to converse with it, too, than force a fight.

‘Oh, look, visitors,’ it said. It looked … tree-ish, there was no other word for it. Its face was overgrown with what looked like many thin brown roots, one eye almost covered, the other small and triangular with a hooded lid. Its voice was deep and calm. The biggest growths they had seen so far covered a pillar, big fleshy bulbs quivering pathetically. A body lay at the demon’s feet. Slowly, the demon drifted towards them. ‘I’d entertain you, but … too much effort involved.’

‘Who is that man, and what have you done to him?’ Núria asked harshly.

The demon’s voice was gentle, lulling her into a sense of security Núria knew she couldn’t afford. ‘He’s just resting. Poor lad, he was so very, very weary. You want to join us, don’t you?’

‘What is this?’ Zevran asked darkly. ‘Some ridiculous ploy to get me to let down my guard?’ Alistair muttered something feeble interrupted by a yawn, and every alarm bell in Núria’s system shrilled that she had to run. But she could not, it was so much easier just to … rest, for a moment, after the many steps up the tower, after all the fighting. Wynne’s voice urging them to resist only reached the edges of her consciousness, and it, too, was weakening.

‘Why do you fight?’ the demon asked soothingly. ‘You deserve more … You deserve a rest. The world will go on without you.’

Somehow Núria realised how very small she was in the bigger picture. So she lay down, Wynne and Alistair were already sleeping, and Zevran smiled weakly as he too slipped to the floor. She slumped to the ground herself, and before her head finally made contact with the tiles she was already fast asleep.


	8. … Spread Your Wings and Fly

Núria awoke in a magnificent castle. She blinked away the fog before her eyes and spotted someone standing on the far end of the huge hall she was in. As she drew nearer, she recognised Duncan. She wondered if she had died, but she had never really believed in an afterlife, let alone one in which she would find so very solid looking people. She was near enough to touch the man when he finally spoke. ‘Ah, there you are. I’m not disturbing you, am I?’

‘You’re dead,’ Núria said stubbornly, now considering if she had been poisoned and was hallucinating. It seemed a more likely option.

‘Dead? Me? Huh!’ Duncan laughed incredulously. ‘I have been close many times, but I never quite made it all the way. I just wanted to make sure you were happy here, in Weisshaupt. These grand halls were built by the first Grey Wardens. Isn’t it breathtaking?’

‘Why are we here when we should be battling darkspawn?’ Núria asked a little more fiercely than she had meant to.

Duncan looked her up and down, his expression worried. ‘The darkspawn are gone, don’t you remember? You were there in that last great battle. It was a triumph for all of us, bringing down the archdemon and setting the underground lairs ablaze.’

Núria closed her eyes, trying to remember any such thing. All she recalled was the disastrous battle at Ostagar, and how almost everyone had died there, even without an archdemon’s assistance. And yes, Duncan had been among those who were killed. ‘No. If they were gone, we would be useless.’

‘The Grey Wardens shall be keepers of history,’ Duncan said, and her eyes snapped open. ‘We shall tell tales and sing songs of a more tumultuous time.’

She stared at him, believing what she heard and saw less with every passing moment. ‘No, that is not what the Grey Wardens are.’ Even if the blight _were_ over, there would still be darkspawn.

‘And I suppose you know the Grey Wardens better than I do?’ Duncan asked, now sounding impatient. ‘Foolish child. I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face. Can you not be content with the peace I offer?’

‘I don’t want your peace, and you’re not Duncan,’ Núria said scathingly, feeling terribly insecure but determined. ‘Wherever this is, I want out!’

Duncan glared at her. ‘Out?’ he echoed. ‘You _will_ get out.’ He drew his sword and ran towards her. For a moment, she was frozen, then she drew her own weapons, prepared to fight. She felt light-headed, the place, including the very ground, did not seem quite solid, and for a moment she had the sickening feeling she would soar upwards if she jumped too hard. This didn’t make fighting easier, but she overcame what she had decided was a vision. Only when the image of Duncan lay on the floor, she spotted a pedestal that emitted a bluish glow. She approached it and found a pulsating speck of light on it. Wondering what this was about, she touched it. She felt a jolt behind her stomach, and the castle faded.

Núria’s first impression was that she hadn’t moved at all. The pedestal was still there. Then she saw that she stood in a kind of desert. Strange ugly plants were swaying in an intangible breeze, and broken structures reached high into the sky. A glowing door leaned against a rock, and when she tried to touch it, her hand passed right through it. A little further ahead, a man was standing. She approached apprehensively.

‘Who are you?’ she asked carefully, ready for another fight.

‘My name is Niall,’ the man replied. ‘I was trying to save the Circle when I encountered the sloth demon. I expect our experiences were similar.’

Only now she remembered … How she had felt so tired, how she had given in to the urge to sleep. She swore softly. ‘Niall! ‘You have that … thing, the one that helps against blood magic!’

‘The Litany of Andralla, yes,’ Niall said. ‘I have it, but it’s too late. Everyone’s dead.’

‘No,’ Núria protested, refusing to believe that it would end … here. ‘There must be some way. What is this place?’

‘You’re in the Fade,’ Niall informed her. ‘Do you know what that is?’

Núria nodded vaguely, instantly regretting that she had never asked Morrigan about her experience there. ‘The pedestals … what are they?’

‘The runes on them signify different islands of the sloth demon’s domain,’ Niall explained. ‘The sloth demon itself is on the centre island, but you can’t get there. The five islands around the centre form a protective ward with a lesser demon on each of them. You can go to the islands, but there are always obstacles. Fire, doors that have no key, cracks you cannot get through. I saw a mouse passing through it, but it wouldn’t talk to me.’

‘Why would you talk to a mouse?’ Núria asked, finding the idea disturbing.

‘Because like you or I it was a dreamer,’ Niall explained. ‘It could have told me how to get through the small passages myself. And if one could become small enough to take one path, perhaps there are similar ways to walk the others.’

‘I didn’t come here alone,’ Núria told Niall. ‘Are my companions here as well?’

‘There are many dreamers here,’ Niall said vaguely. ‘You might find a way to reach them through the islands. If you’re lucky.’

Núria sighed. ‘I will.’ She looked around and found a violet portal a short way behind him. She brought her hand to it, and instead of feeling warmth or wind as she had expected, she saw Niall disappearing and her surroundings changing. A small voice was calling for help, and Núria ran towards a demon like the one Wynne had been fighting in the room with the children. With a shout she attacked, ignoring the burning heat emanating from the shape. Unlike the one torn by Wynne’s magic, her demon seemed to melt into the ground. A small noise near where it had been brought her attention to a mouse. It lay on the ground, twitching and bleeding. Feeling terribly stupid, she asked, ‘Are you a dreamer?’

‘Yes, but it’s too late to save me,’ the mouse replied, and in a normal human voice. ‘Kill Yevena, the demoness that rules here. She protects her master … Sloth. Take my power … save any others trapped in the nightmares, kill the demons that guard Sloth. Make my …’ The voice faltered, and Núria rose with a sigh. She found a small hole next to the mouse, and, wondering how stupid she had to look staring at it, willed herself to shrink. The ground raced towards her, everything grew in size, the plants, rocks, and even the structure of the floor. The small hole was gigantic, she didn’t even need to squeeze into it. She ran through the tunnel, concentrated on regaining her normal shape – or did she return the world to normal, as it felt to her? – and moved on, through violet portals, past shades or demons, back to Niall and the pedestal. She looked at it, and there were new specks of light. She touched one of them, prepared for the jolt in her stomach this time.

The first thing she felt was intense heat. In fact, it was the only thing she felt. She ran her hand over a wall and found it burning, but there was no tangible structure, no real physical resistance. All the same, her hand didn’t pass through it, it stopped there, at the wall, but she never felt it. Despite the heat a chill ran down her spine … This was insane.

Carefully she moved through corridors, and soon she found the source of the heat. The entire structure was on fire. Her way was barred here and there with only one path left open by the flames, and she wondered what would happen if she found it blocked and perhaps could not return either because the fire shut her in. Another disturbing thing were the other people in here. Although perhaps they were unreal, only imagined by another dreamer like the mouse … She couldn’t know. What she did know, was that they – templars, mostly – tried to stop or kill her, and that their bodies were burning without being consumed by the fire. After what seemed ages, she found a dreamer. A templar, no less, who was not burning. He, too, attacked her, and when she had defeated him, he told her with his power she could walk through fire. How his power passed on to her, she never knew, but she accepted it as a fact. This didn’t help her much, though, because apart from a pedestal which she could use to leave, there was only the way back and a strong door without lock or handle. She had a feeling that one of the demons she was looking for would be behind it, but try as she might, it wouldn’t budge. Feeling slightly defeated, she set out for the other islands.

She had more luck where she went next. She found demented mages and even darkspawn, and indeed, there were two more dreamers, but still she grew increasingly frustrated. Her companions were nowhere to be found, and even when she had finally managed to get to two of the demons, there was no trace of them. She wondered if they were wandering through this nightmare as well, looking for her, and if they would ever find each other in this unpredictable place. She lost all sense of time and direction, passing through mouse holes and fire, forcing herself to change into spirits and golems, and slowly losing her sense of _self_ as well.

Núria had no idea how many demons she had killed or how many islands she had seen, having moved from one to another so often. She felt a strong stab of pointlessness approaching a pedestal for the umpteenth time. But suddenly there were three more lights, lights that hadn’t been there before. Only now she saw that five had gone paler, which could only mean that their demons were gone, her path perhaps erratic but not entirely futile … Feeling hope flickering back to life inside her, she touched one of the new lights, hoping desperately that she would finally find one of her companions.

Núria had expected to find a demon or another structure, but what she did find confused her to no end. There were children, at least four, and a woman, and amidst them all Alistair, a stupid simpering smile on his face that didn’t quite suit him. She approached cautiously, remembering the false Duncan and wondering if this was similar. Alistair spotted her and stretched out his arms as if he were going to hug her. Fortunately, he refrained. ‘Hey! It’s great to see you again. was just thinking about you … isn’t that a marvellous coincidence? This is my sister, Goldanna. These are her children, and there’s more about somewhere. We’re one big, happy family, at last.’

Núria stared at him. ‘They’re demons, you know.’ She didn’t even know if Alistair _had_ a sister, but even if it were so, this was not she.

‘Oh, this is what everyone says about their family,’ Alistair quipped.

‘I’m overjoyed to have my little brother back,’ Goldanna said. ‘I’ll never let him out of my sight again.’ The entire situation was so sweet that it was sickening. They were talking as though they were in a house and not in the desertlike landscape that was the Fade, and Alistair had the nerve to invite her for dinner. When finally she could listen to this no longer, she rounded on the woman.

‘I am weary of this act,’ she told her fiercely. ‘Let him go.’

‘He’s ours,’ the woman said, and Alistair didn’t even seem to hear her. ‘Nothing you say will convince him otherwise. He sees only what we want him to see.’

Núria drew her blades, wondering if Alistair would try and stop her. ‘Then I suppose I have to get rid of you.’ When she stabbed Goldanna in the gut, he didn’t even look her way, he kept grinning at one of the children. It had turned into a walking corpse, but obviously only to her eyes. With a feeling of deep disgust she imagined Alistair kissing the child on the cheek, and with a great swing of her sword she cut off its head.

At last, the spell broke. Alistair looked crestfallen. ‘G-Goldanna? I … I can’t believe it … How did I not see this earlier?’

‘You’re in the Fade,’ Núria said patiently, and Alistair nodded slowly.

‘Yes,’ he muttered, then he gave her an imploring look. ‘Try not to tell everyone how easily fooled I was.’ A shimmering light surrounded him, and he became transparent. Despite his protests, he vanished before her very eyes.

With the sense of futility back in place inside her, Núria returned to the pedestal and touched the next light. Wynne, being a mage, was easy to convince that she was in the Fade and being fooled by an illusion. She even helped her fight the demons, but she, too, vanished. The two lights where Alistair and she had been had gone faint, however, and there was only one left, where Zevran might be. She wondered what could enthral a man like him so much that he was incapacitated. For Alistair it had been a wish, for Wynne a nightmare, being surrounded by the bodies of apprentices whose deaths she felt responsible for. Feeling slightly apprehensive, she touched the faint light, braced for the familiar jolt.

Before she saw anything, Núria heard a voice. ‘I think I saw him flinch this time,’ a man said with a cruel undertone. Plants were blocking her sight, and she inched forwards so she could look ahead. She saw two elves, both with heavily painted faces, standing by a rack. Someone was tied to it, but she couldn’t see their face.

‘Maybe,’ the other voice, belonging to the elf on the right, said. ‘We’ll make you scream yet, apprentice.’

‘We’re not going to go easy on you, trust me,’ the first one said, turning the wheel on the rack. The torture device screeched in protest. A groan followed, and Núria cringed when she thought she recognised the voice.

‘No … I wouldn’t … want you to hold back,’ she heard, and this time she was sure, this was Zevran being tortured … ‘I’d be disappointed if you did.’

‘This one has spirit,’ one of the torturers said. ‘It’s a shame we have to break him.’

Rage filled her at this, she would not let them. ‘I’ll not have you threaten a friend of mine,’ she said loudly, stepping into the open from behind the plants. She strode to the rack, standing where Zevran could see her from his miserable position.

‘What … what are you doing here?’ he asked, staring at her without any sign of recognition. ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’

She felt her heart racing. Both Alistair and Wynne had known who she was … If the Fade had somehow damaged him … ‘I’m here to help you.’

‘I can’t,’ Zevran said, his voice heavy with pain. ‘I need to stay strong. This is my test. I’m going to be a Crow … I need to show them I can tolerate pain …’

With a pang Núria understood that this was not a dream but a memory, something that had happened at some point in his past. She balled her fists in a helpless gesture. ‘But you’re already an Antivan Crow. You’ve gone through this long ago, Zevran.’

He blinked at her. ‘What? That cannot be, and yet … you speak the truth? I can feel it.’

‘This is a dream, Zevran,’ she repeated. ‘Fight it!’ One of the torturers pushed her hard in the ribs, knocking her into the rack. She used the opportunity to slash at Zevran’s ties with her dagger, hoping he would help her fight, before she spun around and lunged at the elf before her. Zevran didn’t help. Wide-eyed, he watched her fighting his torturers, clutching his right side and shaking slightly. She overcame them without his help, though, and wanted to ask if he was fine, when he vanished like the other two before him. Swearing, Núria raced back to the pedestal. She felt a lot like crying with anger and despair when there was a new light, right in the centre. She slammed her hand against it and was rewarded by being sent to wherever this one led with such force that she fell to her knees.

She found herself facing a demon, yet again, but this time it spoke to her, and even though it looked different here in its domain, she knew it was the same thing that had sent them here. It talked to her, but she didn’t listen. She saw her companions appearing out of nowhere, and all of them seemed alive and well if a little shaken. She cut across the demon’s words. ‘Fight us, or let us go!’ This time she knew she would not be alone, Alistair would slam his shield into the demon’s face, Zevran’s sword and dagger would pass above her when she had to duck, and Wynne would keep them all on their feet, no matter what the demon dreamed up.

By the end of it, she knew that she’d rather fight three revenants than one demon in its own domain. Every time she thought it was defeated, it changed form, and even though she did the same in order to do the most harm possible, it exhausted them all to no end. Zevran dropping his weapons and the other two staring blankly at her when she willed her body to take the form of a golem without a warning didn’t help much, either. With the rumbling voice of the stone creature, she told them to keep fighting, and they did, but all of them looked excessively worried about her. At last, the demon fell, and the world began to dissolve. Núria became very aware of the cold stone beneath her cheek and jerked up into a sitting position. Zevran sat up, and she saw him flinch and clutch at his side again. When she was about to speak, he shook his head very slightly, and she gave a small nod. Now was not the time.


	9. Waiting For Morrigan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((This chapter heading is not a quote per se, but an admittedly crude allusion. I’ll just leave it at that.))

The body lying next to the demon was Niall’s, it turned out. Wynne had tried to save him, but all she managed to do was watch him take his last breath. She took a parchment from him, the Litany of Andralla, and Núria left it in her hands. She would be the one who could handle it best.

From this point they met as good as no resistance until they found a templar, Cullen, trapped in a magical cage. He told them that the blood mage Uldred, who was responsible for the horrors in the tower, was upstairs, turning people into monsters. Wynne tried to soothe him, but he didn’t even listen to her words. According to him the first enchanter was with the blood mage and no one there could possibly be saved. ‘They have been surrounded b-by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts,’ he said with a haunted look in his eyes.

Alistair looked slightly pained at the madness that seemed to have gripped the young templar. ‘His hatred of mages is so intense … The memory of his friends’ deaths is still fresh in his mind.’

‘You have to end it, now, before it is too late,’ the young man said desperately.

‘What do you propose we do?’ Núria asked.

‘To ensure this horror is ended, to guarantee that no abominations and blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there,’ Cullen said urgently. Núria saw Wynne stiffen and Zevran frown deeply.

‘So you suggest we go upstairs and wholesale slaughter anything that’s moving?’ he asked angrily. ‘Great, glorious thing to do, it would fill me with such pride.’

‘Agreed ,’ Núria said darkly. She glanced at Wynne. ‘You know how to handle that litany thing?’

The mage nodded at her. ‘The last flight of stairs,’ she told Zevran with a slow smile.

He gave an exaggerated sigh and proceeded up the few steps. With a meaningful look at Núria, he thrust the door open.

Núria didn’t believe what she was seeing. The room was bright with bolts of lightning issuing from the hands of a bald mage and two – for lack of a better word – monsters. They looked like what Núria had thought to be a demon the floor below, the thing that had cast them all into the Fade. ‘What are they?’ she breathed to Wynne.

‘Abominations,’ the mage told her, also in a whisper. The thought that it had been a human being that had so much power over them scared her even more than if it had been a demon.

A scream rent the air, coming from a mage in the centre of the lights and the figures. He was dangling in mid-air as the bald mage approached. ‘Do you accept the gift I offer?’ he asked, caressing his victim’s jaw. The answer was an inarticulate gurgle. The bald man withdrew his hand, and the other tumbled to the floor where he lay motionless. The three figures, unaware of the new arrivals, approached him, and again, the poor soul was engulfed in lightning. His body twisted and began to change its shape until he rose again, his face and body mutated by the demon that was forced into his body. Only now the bald man looked over at the door. ‘Ah, look what we have here. An intruder. I bid you welcome. Care to join in our … revels?’

‘Your idea of revelling is not quite the same as mine,’ Zevran said to the mage. ‘Or as ours, if I may say so.’

Núria gave him a wry smile. ‘You may. Wynne?’

The mage nodded, and Alistair charged. He didn’t even falter as the mage turned into a true monstrosity, taller even than Sten, with claws and scales and a slavering demon’s mouth. Núria and Zevran exchanged a glance and followed Alistair into the battle. The Antivan slashed at the abomination, his face set and determined as if his opponent were a human rather than something that looked as though it had come out of a nightmare.

It was extremely difficult to hurt Uldred in this form, his scales protecting him from their weapons, but his defence grew weaker, and when Núria rammed her sword deeply into his leg it gave, and he sunk to the floor. All three of them were upon him immediately, but with a fierce spell he cast them all from him. It didn’t help him for a long time. A spell from Wynne slammed him into the opposite wall, and his skull broke with a sickening crack. Núria scrambled to her feet and rammed her sword into his throat for good measure.

They found Irving tied up and shaken but certainly alive. He led them back down to Greagoir and promised to provide aid against the blight. Wynne asked for leave to help the Wardens, and with a smile Irving commented that she had never been meant to stay in the tower for good. Núria was relieved. Wynne was an excellent healer, and despite her age she seemed strong enough. She was certainly determined.

Ϡ

Back in camp, Wynne hovered over all of them, looking them over. When she was done, she led Núria a short way from the rest of the growing party. ‘You mentioned going to Denerim at some point. You are aware that this is a long journey?’

Núria shrugged. ‘Unless you happen to know where the Urn of Sacred Ashes is, I have to.’

‘Perhaps it would be better to send a messenger,’ Wynne said. ‘One person can travel a lot faster than so many.’

‘I thought about this, but chances are that we would have to go in the direction of Denerim anyway,’ Núria said. ‘We have no idea whatsoever where this urn may be.’ She started to walk back to the others.

‘Morrigan got past Greagoir,’ Wynne said. ‘He didn’t even let the children out, so she must have managed in another way.’

Núria grinned. ‘I suppose she turned into some kind of roach and slipped out.’

‘I thought it would be something like that … Send her, if she can change into an animal, she can be a lot faster.’

Núria frowned slightly. ‘Is there a particular reason why I should not go to Denerim? Besides the obvious, I mean.’

Wynne sighed deeply. ‘When I inspected you all for injuries, I noticed that a journey like that might well do a lot of damage to one of you.’

‘Zevran,’ Núria said at once, and the elderly mage nodded.

‘May I ask what happened to him before he came to the tower?’

Núria gave her a crooked grin. ‘The short version? He is an assassin, and when he failed to kill me, I said he could help me instead. Before that I injured him. Severely. Morrigan healed him.’

‘She certainly saved him,’ Wynne answered. ‘She stopped him bleeding, but his injury inflamed. He is slightly feverish and will be worse tomorrow. He must have lost much blood, and that isn’t helping, either.’

‘Don’t tell me he’s dying,’ Núria said softly, and Wynne shook her head at once.

‘I can help him, but he needs a few days rest,’ the mage said. ‘Let us stay at the Spoiled Princess, they have rooms there. What he needs is time.’

‘Morrigan will be delighted,’ Núria muttered.

The apostate took it better than Núria had expected. She didn’t tell her precisely why she wanted her to go, she made it sound as if it were all about effectiveness, and the mage actually agreed with her. She warned her, however, that whatever protective wards she had placed around their camp would stop functioning when she was gone. Morrigan expected to be back in about a week if nothing stopped her. At first Núria had considered taking rooms in the Spoiled Princess, the inn at the lake, but in the end she found it better to remain in camp.

As soon as Morrigan had left, Núria approached Zevran sitting by the fire. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked gently, and he raised his eyebrows.

‘Well enough, as I told Wynne before you,’ he said. ‘She insists I’m ill, though.’ He certainly looked ill. His skin was darker than Núria’s but even in the glow of the fire he looked pale, and a light sheen of sweat was on his forehead.

‘Well, until Morrigan is back we can rest, and since that may be the last time in a while it isn’t such a bad thing,’ Núria said, sitting on the ground beside him.

‘Say … how do you become a Grey Warden?’ he asked.

Núria smiled at him. ‘I guess you’re not the only one who cannot answer every question. And I cannot make you one, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

Zevran chuckled. ‘No, that’s not what I meant. I just wonder what I shall do when this is over. Seeing how returning to the Crows is not an option.’

Núria looked him up and down. ‘I can think of a few things you could do.’ She had a rather absurd vision of him teaching children in the alienage how not to get caught and beaten by _shemlen_. She grinned, despite herself, and he laughed softly.

‘Oh, are you having naughty thoughts about me delighting the noble women of Ferelden?’ he teased, and Núria joined in his laughter.

‘For some reason I _could_ imagine that,’ she told him. ‘But what is it you fancy?’

Zevran’s eyes seemed to flare at that question. ‘I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting. Would you be offended if I said I fancy you?’

Suddenly Núria’s face was hotter than the vicinity to the fire demanded. ‘I … not at all, but that wasn’t … I mean … um.’ She blinked, angry about her incoherence. ‘I assume you will still be an assassin, you don’t need the Crows for that,’ she added hastily.

Zevran sighed. ‘I’ve been wondering if that were an option.’

She smiled vaguely. ‘You enjoy your work, then?’

‘Oh, why should I not?’ he retorted. ‘There’s a certain artistry to it, the pleasure of sinking your blade into a target’s flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.’

Núria had a fleeting vision of a man in a cage. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘Why did you not kill me, Kira?’ he asked, in as low a voice as hers. ‘Why are you sending Morrigan as your messenger just because Wynne thinks _I_ need to rest?’

‘Morrigan can turn into a hawk, Zevran, she’s a lot faster than the lot of us,’ Núria replied briskly and pragmatically, as she thought.

‘That wasn’t my question.’

Núria sighed. ‘Perhaps I needed to show myself that I still have a soul.’ There was more spite in her voice than she cared for. ‘Have you never done anything you regretted so much that you went out of your way to redeem yourself?’

Zevran gave a short, harsh laugh. ‘Redeem myself? I wouldn’t know how. But I think I get your meaning.’

Suddenly Núria felt closer to the assassin than to anyone else in the small group around her. ‘What did you do?’ Somehow, she needed to hear something worse than what she had done since she had left the alienage, something more vile than murdering a trapped man in cold blood.

Zevran shook his head. ‘Can I tell you about my conquests instead of answering this? Or perhaps I can fulfil another request of yours? I’ll show you how I can slip to your back and then thrust something into your flesh from behind?’

Núria blinked at him and blushed furiously. ‘Oh, you’re talking about fighting, right?’ Amusement at Zevran’s sheer outrageousness replaced her serious thoughts.

Zevran grinned at her. ‘Of course I’m talking about fighting, my beautiful Kira, whatever else could I mean?’

She shook her head. ‘You would teach me? That’s … Yes, please, but not today, my muscles are screaming for peace already. I’d rather take the other offer. Let me in on your history with women from all over Thedas.’

‘Are you sure you wish to hear the answer?’ Zevran wondered. ‘If you go any redder you might make Wynne put leeches on your face for safety.’

‘Ugh!’ she made. ‘I’ll think of the image you just put into my mind when I threaten to flush, and I’ll be green at once. Unless you’re trying to evade answering.’

Zevran grinned. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Perhaps I should start by saying that my history is not solely restricted to women? Or does that offend you?’

‘Should it?’ Núria shrugged.

‘Ah, that is entirely up to you,’ Zevran said. ‘I grew up amongst whores, my dear. Sex is best when done well, and truly that is my only rule. Do I prefer women? Yes … yes I believe I do but you must understand that a certain open-mindedness is sought by the Crows in their recruits – and for good reasons.’

‘What might those be?’ Núria enquired.

‘I have had to do many things in my work as an assassin, some pleasant, and many not so,’ Zevran replied. ‘The Crows recruit elven assassins because we are considered beautiful by humans … I’m sure you can imagine the rest. If that is more than you can bear … well, then it’s good we know now, yes?’

‘It doesn’t bother me, Zevran,’ Núria said sincerely.

‘Oh, then I might as well tell you about my second mission,’ Zevran said eagerly. ‘I was sent to kill a mage who had been meddling in politics.’

‘The Crows were willing to anger the Circle of Magi?’ Núria asked incredulously, the memories of their power still very vivid.

‘In Antiva nobody is too important to escape the reach of the Crows,’ Zevran said slyly. ‘Anyway, the mage in question was quite a delightful young woman. Long, divine legs, as I recall. I caught her in a carriage on her way to escape to the provinces. After I killed her guard, she got down on her hands and knees and begged for her life … rather aptly, I might add. So I joined her in the carriage for the night and left the next morning.’

‘And she didn’t try to kill you?’ Núria asked.

Zevran chuckled. ‘Well, yes. Twice, actually. Then she decided to try and use me, instead. She actually convinced me to speak to the Crows on her behalf. What can I say, I was young and foolish at the time. Then, as I was kissing her good-bye to return to Antiva City, she slipped on the threshold and fell backwards out of the carriage. Broke her neck … Shame, really, but at least it happened quickly.’

‘Were you upset?’ Núria inquired carefully.

‘At first, yes,’ he conceded. ‘Well, not upset. Surprised is really a better word. Then I found out that she had told the driver to take her to Genellan instead. She had planned to loose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows. As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job of making it look like an accident. It certainly taught me that one needn’t let a pretty face go to your head. Professionalism was key. That’s my moral of the day, you see.’

Núria intended to reply that this was certainly a useful outcome. ‘So you never mix business with pleasure?’ was what came out of her mouth instead. She made a mental note not to talk to him when she was tired ever again.

Zevran shot her a slightly hungry grin. ‘Well, there’s you. But I’ll point out that you did have to capture me and tie me up first. Every rule has its exception.’ His grin broadened slightly. ‘Now that I’ve mentioned tying me up in that context, do we have extra rope about?’

Núria found herself playing awkwardly with her hands. Zevran laughed and saved her. ‘Ah, but you said you’re too tired for training, and I might struggle. But the offer remains, if you ever have a mind …’ With a wink and a grin he left for his tent.

Ϡ

They waited for Morrigan’s return for nine days. She returned almost at night, looking slightly angry. ‘I never thought I’d say that, but you were right,’ she said without preamble. ‘It would have been a horrible waste of time for all of us to go to Denerim. Has anyone heard of a dump called Haven?’ She looked over at Zevran, their living map, but he simply shrugged. ‘Well, I know where it is. Genitivi is supposed to be there. When I called at his house, I found a man lying blatantly in my face, saying he were at the docks of Lake Calenhad … When I threatened to stick his head into his cosy ingel, he wailed for mercy and said Genitivi was in Haven and kindly informed me where I can find that if I don’t overlook it. It’s to the south-west of here, actually.’

They spent the night at camp and set out for Haven early the next morning. Zevran had recovered from his fever after Wynne had made him drink a potion made of elfroot, bloodwort, and the dried fruits of yew trees. He complained that it was bitter and sickly sweet all at once, but she had insisted that it helped, and indeed he had looked better within a few hours.

They journeyed to Haven through Redcliffe, where they could spend one night in an actual inn for a change. They spotted the village near a small lake, and Morrigan’s comment about overlooking it seemed somewhat justified. Núria spoke with a guard that was less than welcoming, and made up her mind to have a look around the next morning. She also decided that she would certainly not go alone. If the villagers found her unwelcome, she’d rather have Zevran by her side. He had kept his word and taught her how to fight like an assassin, and she found that his lessons were not only useful, but also quite fun. The afternoon before they would seek Genitivi, they engaged in a friendly fight in the middle of the camp, Leliana cheering Núria on, while Alistair eyed Zevran lunging at her with freshly sharpened blades with open distrust. Suddenly, without anyone knowing how, Núria was on her back, and Zevran was straddling her, the blunt side of his dagger against her throat. ‘And that is why you really want to know how to feint,’ he told her from above, leering down at her. ‘But that’s next lesson.’

‘I would appreciate it if you would get off me,’ she growled, feeling very aware of how close he was.

Zevran leaned down so that his mouth was directly at her ear. It made her shiver, but not with fear. ‘Oh, but you’re so cosy.’ He got up all the same and helped her to her feet. Sten frowned at them, but Núria had eyes for Zevran only.

She marvelled at how he could be like _that_ with what he had gone through, his past showing clearly in the lines on his face but never in the way he acted or talked. She pushed the thought away. ‘Next lesson is after we have those ashes. I’ll not give you another chance to mount me before that.’ She didn’t even blush, and when Zevran stared at her, she laughed. ‘Go stick your head into that lake, that’ll cool you.’

‘Oh, but that would be a waste,’ he replied, grinning at her. ‘I think I’ll rather … retreat for tonight. It was a great pleasure.’


	10. Truth Is Always A Delusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((A little less crude, this chapter heading, and a Dürrenmatt quote from The Marriage of Mr. Mississippi.))

The sun had risen a few hours before, and much to her own displeasure, Núria was still in camp, making up her mind who to take to Haven. The mountain overlooking the village was clad in clouds, and even down below where they had been resting, a thick fog covered the lake and its vicinity. It felt as if even the land itself wanted them gone …

‘Interesting strategy,’ a voice said behind her. She spun around and found Sten, looking down at her from some six steps distance. She would normally move closer, but she knew that his personal space was a good deal wider than that of any of the others and refrained. ‘Tell me: Do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south, and attack the archdemon from the rear?’

‘It’ll never see this coming,’ she commented absent-mindedly, removing things she wouldn’t need from her bag and dropping them unceremoniously to the ground.

‘Truly,’ the qunari said. ‘It would surprise _me_ if my enemy counter-attacked by running away and climbing a mountain.’

‘It’s not like I didn’t say why we’re here,’ Núria said slightly impatiently. ‘I’m not going to repeat myself. You will very simply have to trust me.’

‘I trust you with my life,’ Sten stated, taking her by surprise with that revelation. ‘But this is not my life at risk. It is our goal.’

‘This is something that has to be done to achieve our goal,’ Núria said calmly. ‘Anyway, you’ll be climbing the mountain with me.’ She grabbed her blades and gestured to Wynne and Zevran to come with her, too.

Alistair frowned slightly. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea? Sten looked like he wanted to challenge you, and I’m not sure if Zevran will help you against him if he does.’

‘He did challenge me, Alistair,’ Núria informed him, ‘and that wasn’t the first time either. I can handle Sten. And for the last time, I trust Zevran.’

‘If you would just tell me why, I’d feel better about that,’ Alistair insisted.

Núria sighed. ‘I cannot. We have a connection. Look after the others … I have a feeling that this village has eyes everywhere in its vicinity. Keep them safe.’

Alistair nodded. ‘And you yourself.’

Núria grinned. ‘For that I have Wynne.’

Ϡ

The village seemed forsaken but for the guard. This time he didn’t stop her, he simply glanced at her, eyes full of hostility. They knocked a few doors, but no one seemed to be home. Only a small child was standing in the cold, muttering a nursery rhyme. For lack of any other person to speak to, Núria approached the boy. ‘Who are you?’ he asked her. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘Where is everyone else?’ Núria asked instead of answering.

‘In the Chantry,’ the boy told her. ‘Mother wanted me to go to the Chant … but she doesn’t get to tell me what to do anymore! I’m sick of listening to Father Eirik along with the babies and the girls. Soon I’ll be old enough to go up the mountain and …’ The child faltered with the distinct air of someone who had said too much.

‘Go up the mountain?’ Núria pressed him.

‘Nothing,’ he said a little too casually. ‘It’s just nicer up there. You wouldn’t understand. Lowlanders don’t belong here.’ Núria looked to Wynne for help.

‘I bet you’re a clever boy,’ the mage said softly. ‘Tell me something about Haven.’

‘Haven is Haven, but I have a secret,’ he said, inching closer to the mage. ‘Do you want to see?’

‘Yes, show me,’ she said with a warm smile. The boy produced something from his pocket and held it out for them to see. Zevran’s eyebrows shot up, and Núria had to swallow. Lying on his palm, there was a finger-bone, white and shining even in the vague light.

‘Where did you get that?’ Núria asked.

‘Over by the mountain,’ the child informed her. ‘It’s lucky. I keep it with me. Don’t tell anyone, all right?’ The small boy continued with his nursery rhyme.

‘Fine, so we have to look for Genitivi without help,’ Núria sighed. She approached one of the houses and pushed the door open. Her eyes fell on a stone altar in the corner. Clogging blood was running down its side.

‘I wonder,’ Zevran said next to her. ‘The Crows often made sacrifices of blood, and it gave them uncanny abilities.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Núria said firmly after a quick look around the house. They had barely stepped out of the door when they were attacked. Their enemies seemed to be intimidated by Sten’s mere appearance, and that thought was comforting. More carefully, they moved up the hill and found a store. They entered and rummaged through all the things on display. Núria found a pair of leather boots and examined them.

‘Is it common here in the south to have dead people lying in the back rooms of your shops?’ Zevran’s voice called from behind an open door. She stuffed the boots into her pack and rushed to his side. Indeed, there was a knight, not only killed but dismembered.

‘That’s Redcliffe armour,’ she said softly. ‘That explains what happened to the knights. I wonder how much remains of Genitivi.’

Agreeing that they had to be very careful indeed, they proceeded to the Chantry. They could hear the muffled voices of the villagers in there, and after a moment of hesitation, Núria pushed the door open. A bearded man standing before a few villagers greeted them. Núria assumed he was Father Eirik.

‘Ah, welcome,’ he said. ‘I heard we had a visitor wandering about the village. I trust you’ve enjoyed your time in Haven so far?’

‘Yes, I do so love gore,’ Núria said angrily. ‘Where is Genitivi?’

‘We do not owe you any answers,’ Eirik said coldly. ‘We have a sacred duty; failure to protect Her would be a greater sin. All will be forgiven.’ As though by an unspoken command, the villagers attacked them. Some of them seemed to be used to fighting, but mostly their attempts were feeble. The fact that the people in the Chantry were all actually armed was not a comforting lookout, though.

After a short battle, Zevran knelt next to Father Eirik’s body. ‘Interesting thing.’ He cut a thin chain from the man’s throat and took a medallion from it. He tossed it over to Núria. ‘There, might be worth something, who knows?’ The small item looked vaguely like a flower. It was made of solid silver, as far as she could tell.

‘Thanks,’ she said and pocketed it. They looked around, and after a while Wynne started knocking at a section of the wall.

‘There is a passage,’ she said suddenly. ‘There are a few hidden doors in the Circle Tower, and this is one, too, if ever there was one.’

‘Can you open it?’ Núria asked eagerly, and the mage started looking around. After a moment a smile spread on her face, and her hand reached behind a shelf. The door slid to the side, revealing a large chamber behind it – and a man lying on the floor.

Much to Núria’s surprise, he was alive. ‘You are not by any chance Brother Genitivi?

‘I am,’ he said, trying to sit up. ‘You’re not one of the cultists, are you? Thank the Maker …’

‘You don’t look well,’ Wynne said, kneeling down beside him. ‘I can set your leg and ease some of the pain, but you’ll need to rest in order to heal properly.’

‘I don’t have time to rest,’ Genitivi said urgently. ‘The urn is just up that mountain.’

‘You want to climb up there in your condition?’ Núria asked with disbelief.

‘Broken ribs be cursed,’ Genitivi insisted. ‘I’m not abandoning decades of research. There’s an old temple up there, built to protect it. The door is always locked, but I know what the key is. Eirik wears a medallion that opens the temple door. I’ve seen what he does with it.’

‘Is this by any chance the key?’ Núria asked, handing him the thing Zevran had taken from Eirik.

Genitivi’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, that is the key! Take me to the mountainside and I will show you.’

Núria gave Wynne a questioning look, and the mage nodded. ‘We’ll help you. Let’s go.’

Ϡ

It wasn’t far, and Núria allowed Genitivi to lean on her. A path led from behind the Chantry up the slope and to an inconspicuous door. Genitivi fumbled with the medallion for a moment, before he put it into a very strange keyhole and opened the passage. They stepped into a cavern whose ceiling was so high that it was barely visible. Snow had drifted into the hall from one side, and stalagmites and stalactites of glistening bluish ice formed columns of unique beauty.

‘You stay here, who knows how many madmen are in here,’ Núria told Genitivi. He didn’t really seem interested in leaving any time soon anyway. While she and the others had a good look at the place, he barely moved three steps, looking closely at wall carvings and statues.

Indeed, the temple was swarming with cultists. Apart from that, it had to be a vast place that reached into the very heart of the mountain. Twice they stood before doors whose locks neither Núria nor Zevran could pick. They found a library with tomes so old that she could not even read them, let alone understand what they said. She took a few scrolls with her, wondering if she would ever find someone who could decipher them.

Moving cautiously, they passed through a tall door to find that their impression had been right: This temple was built into the mountain. The passage they entered was a natural cave, worming its way into the stone. The air was thick behind it, but there had to be air shafts, for it was breathable. Apart from changing direction at every other step, the cave branched out, and Núria was getting worried if they would ever find their way out again.

‘Have we been turned around?’ Wynne muttered behind her. ‘How does anyone navigate these halls?’

Zevran chuckled. ‘With a good memory. If you turned around now you would have to go past two side arms leading to the left and into the one on the right side. There you walk for about two minutes until …’

Wynne patted his arm. ‘Thank you, that’s all I wanted to know.’

The cultists inside the temple were fighting much better. They were warriors, if she was any judge of fighting technique, and Sten started adopting their methods. She wondered if that was his way of mocking them or a sign of respect.

The most disconcerting thing about the place were the small dragons assisting the cultists in the fight. They also seemed to increase in size the further they got. While the first lizards had only reached to their knees, they found some that actually overlooked them deeper in the temple. Núria pushed the thought of an even larger dragon firmly away.

There were traps laid out by the cultists and she and Zevran did all they could to disarm them for everyone’s safety, lest someone forget about them on the return. Her fingers were stiff with cold, but she did her best. Wynne could often tell if there were people in a room, and if it were only a few or a large group. Sten, who disliked mages, didn’t appreciate how much trust Núria laid on her, but when he sustained an injury he let her heal him quite willingly and even stopped referring to mages as ‘it’ when speaking about them.

They ended up before yet another cavernous hall, and Wynne said she thought there was quite a number of people in there. Núria suggested proceeding carefully, but Sten was about as good at sneaking as the average bronto. She already had her hands on her weapons when one of the men in the room stepped up to her and stared in her eyes. Being a human, he was quite a bit taller than she, but he gave Sten a short wary look before he spoke. ‘Stop! You will go no further!’ Again, he glanced at Sten.

Núria folded her arms. ‘Oh? Is that so?’ Her stance seemed relaxed, but that could change in the blink of an eye.

‘You have defiled our temple!’ the man said angrily. ‘You have spilled the blood of the faithful, and slaughtered our young. No more! You will tell me now, intruder, why you have done all this. Why have you come here?’

The truth might prompt him to attack, but still – or perhaps because of that – Núria decided to stick with it. ‘I have come for the Urn of Sacred Ashes.’

‘You did this for an ancient relic?’ the man asked incredulously. ‘Know this, stranger … The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine! Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay Her now. What hope do you have?’

Núria’s eyebrows had travelled a good way upwards, and lowered them with quite a bit of effort, turning her gaze into a frown. ‘And what has happened to the ashes?’ Frankly, she dreaded the answer. If these madmen had destroyed the Urn …

‘They are still within this temple,’ the strange man told her, ‘but why do we need ashes if we serve the risen Andraste in all Her glory?’

Someone had once told Núria never to disagree with someone who was obviously insane. ‘I want to see that glorious Andraste.’

‘None but the disciples may approach Andraste,’ the man said. ‘She is not ready yet, but when the time is right, She will descend upon the nations in fiery splendour, and all will know Her. But … perhaps there is a way to make up for your recent transgressions.’

‘Indeed?’ Núria asked. ‘Would you give me your name, then?’

His name was Kolgrim, and he was the leader of the cult that had tried to thwart them all the way from Haven. He also said that the ashes stopped Andraste from gaining her full power. In order to rectify that, a few drops of her blood would have to be poured into the ashes. Núria clearly saw the fanaticism in his eyes, and so did her companions. She listened carefully, working on keeping her face indifferent. Fighting fanatics was not what she had come here for, and there were quite many of them gathered in this hall.

Finally, Kolgrim told her that a guardian was taking care that none of the cultists could reach the ashes, but that she would pass for a pilgrim. Expecting protests, she agreed to take the blood of the risen Andraste to the ashes. She heard Wynne starting to speak, but Zevran cut across her.

‘Excellent. With Kolgrim on our side, we could make it through this entire ordeal with our necks intact.’

Núria nodded towards him. ‘Precisely. I want to get back to Eamon.’


	11. See Who I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Chapter heading is a Within Temptation song.))

Kolgrim brought Núria and the others to a door that led out onto the mountain top. As they walked down a path, a deafening roar sounded from everywhere, reflected and magnified by the mountain. A huge dragon came flying towards them, sweeping over their heads and landing on a pinnacle overlooking the lofty passage.

‘A high dragon?’ Zevran muttered. ‘We’re not planning on actually fighting it, are we? Couldn’t we just … sneak around it?’

Núria grinned vaguely. ‘I like my head where it is.’ The dragon stretched its wings and lay down where it was, turning its head away from the humans. ‘Apparently it doesn’t consider us that interesting, and I must admit I like it that way.’

Núria noticed a door that seemed to lead into the mountain again on the far end of the path. For a while she thought they would actually be able to get there unnoticed, but suddenly the dragon rose into the air and landed directly in front of them. It threw its huge head back and breathed an enormous flame above their heads. In the cold air of the mountain, the heat seemed twice as deadly.

Kolgrim walked up to the dragon and dropped onto his knees before it. Wynne shook her head with a despairing look on her face. ‘You fool, you miserable fool,’ she muttered, but he didn’t hear her.

‘Great Andraste!’ he shouted. ‘I pray you: Stay Your wrath! I bring before You Your champions, who will fall upon Your enemies as a cleansing flame, paving the way for Your glory! O beloved Andraste! O holy Andraste! We praise Your name!’

‘Perhaps you should remember this and try it on the archdemon when you meet it,’ Zevran suggested drily, watching the dragon leave the path.

Núria replied with a soft, slightly hysterical laugh and remembered once more what impressed her so in the assassin. ‘I’ll keep it in mind, although I can’t start calling all dragons Andraste. That would only lead to confusion.’

Zevran frowned up to where the creature had returned. ‘How can you tell this isn’t your archdemon?’

Núria led the way ahead, leaving Kolgrim behind. ‘I guess I’d feel that. Oh, and it would certainly know me. We can tell by the fact I’m alive.’

‘Oh, good,’ Zevran said. ‘So all we have to do is return before it gets hungry.’

Behind the door a man welcomed them, introducing himself as the guardian. He affirmed Núria’s suspicion that the dragon was not Andraste and that the prophetess remained dead. He told them that in order to reach the Urn of Sacred Ashes, they had to pass through a gauntlet that would prove their worthiness. ‘All right, let’s get this over with then,’ Núria said lightly and wanted to walk past the guardian, but he remained blocking the way ahead.

‘Before you go, there is something I must ask,’ he said. His voice was like the wind blowing through the temple, shifting in tone and volume. ‘I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past – your suffering, and the suffering of others. By the time you reached Shianni, she was broken, brutalised. You were too late. Tell me, pilgrim, did you fail Shianni?’

Pictures of memories repressed blossomed before Núria’s mind’s eye. Nelaros, dead before her feet … a cook’s boy, cutting the throat of his master before bolting … Shianni, lying on the floor … blood spurting from the throat of the man who had caused her eyes to lose their life. She wanted to scream and shout that, yes, if only she had been faster, if only she had found the way more quickly, perhaps she could have stopped this. Instead, her mouth repeated the mantra her mind tried to hammer into her heart every night since then.

‘I did all I could. Vaughan is the villain.’

‘Then you do not dwell on past mistakes,’ the guardian said. ‘Neither yours, nor someone else’s.’ Núria heard Sten muttering in approval and Wynne saying something, but all she understood was that the guardian was not what he was cracked up to be. He couldn’t read her. She felt eyes on her and turned to see Zevran’s appraising look. He had said something, but try as she might, she didn’t know what. His gaze she did understand. He hadn’t bought her bluff.

‘Ask your question, guardian,’ Wynne said next to her, and she tore her eyes away from the Antivan.

‘You are ever the advisor, ready with a word of wisdom. Do you wonder if you spout only platitudes, burned into your mind in the distant past? Perhaps you are only a tool used to spread the word of the Circle and the Chantry. Does doubt ever chip away at your truths?’

Wynne smiled vaguely and answered with the air of someone explaining the obvious to a rather daft person. ‘You frame the statement in the form of a question, yet you already know our answers. There is no sense in hiding, is there? Yes. I do doubt at times. Only the fool is completely certain of himself.’

The guardian looked at Zevran. ‘And the Antivan elf …’ he began, and for once something like fear seemed to enter the assassin’s eyes.

‘Is it my turn now?’ he asked, trying to sound bored, but his wide eyes betrayed him. ‘Hurrah. I’m so excited.’

The guardian was completely unperturbed. ‘Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of –’

‘How do you know about that?’ Zevran asked sharply, cutting across him.

‘I know much,’ the guardian replied. ‘It is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret –’

Again, Zevran cut him short. ‘Yes. The answer is yes, if that’s what you wish to know. I do. Now move on.’ As the guardian spoke to Sten, Núria sought Zevran’s gaze. She expected him to turn away, but he faced her. An unspoken agreement arose between the two that each deserved an explanation of this. Right now, however, the guardian gave up his position by the door, and they moved on, into the next room.

They had stepped into a vast hall with niches on its side and a huge door at the far end. In each one of the niches there was – a spirit, it had to be that way. Carefully, Núria approached.

‘Echoes of a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come,’ the spirit of a woman said. ‘Of what do I speak?’

Núria opened her mouth and closed it again. ‘Riddles? No, no that is not my answer! Can I have that again?’ The spirit obliged, and she scratched her head. ‘Shadow realm? The Fade? Hang on … Dreams!’

‘A dream came upon me, as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart,’ the spirit said. ‘It told of her life, and of her betrayal and death. I am sorrow and regret. I am a mother weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save.’ Núria swallowed as the spirit dissolved and left on a gust of wind. They spoke to each of the spirits in turn, and usually she or Wynne found the answer quickly. One of the spirits was an elf, Dalish, by the look of him.

‘I’d neither a guest nor a trespasser be; in this place I belong, that belongs also to me,’ he said, and for once it was neither Núria that had an answer, nor Wynne.

‘Home.’ The word had come from Sten, who stared at the elf with an unmoved expression, but the fact that he had volunteered the answer so quickly spoke volumes.

‘It was my dream for the people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves,’ the elven spirit answered. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste, against the Imperium. But She was betrayed, and so were we.’

When the last spirit had left, the door creaked open. Núria froze as she looked behind it. ‘Shianni …’ she breathed, stepping closer, telling herself firmly that this was an illusion.

‘It’s good to see you, I suppose,’ Shianni – no! an image of her! – said. ‘Life out there’s been good to you, hasn’t it? You’re respected, even among humans. Do you remember us, where you came from, and what some of us still face every day?’

‘Yes, I do, Shianni,’ Núria said sincerely, forgetting for the moment that this was not she.

‘You don’t even feel much anymore when you remember it, do you?’ This accusation was as wrong as it was painful. Núria was about to protest, but Shianni continued. ‘You’ve moved on, past the horror of that night. You have a great task to complete. I want you to take this. I think you should have it. Seeing you now gives me hope … for all of us.’

Núria took an amulet from Shianni, and like the spirits in the room behind them, the vision disappeared. ‘This,’ Núria said firmly, thrusting the amulet into a pocket, ‘was not Shianni.’

Even before they had left the hall and entered the next room, Núria knew that there was something terribly wrong. Specks of light were flickering on its far end, and the lights were drifting closer. One of them connected with Sten, and for an instant, it solidified into a body. ‘They’re us!’ Wynne shouted, for once sounding scared. ‘We’ve got to fight ourselves!’

Núria thought quickly. She didn’t doubt the words of the mage for one moment, but she felt sure they needed a strategy. ‘Wynne, back off!’

‘You’re on me,’ Wynne answered.

Núria pushed Zevran towards the mage fending off a see-through version of her. ‘Zevran, you can handle me. Sten, we get Wynne, then Zevran.’ The fight taught Núria that they had not come this far by sheer luck. Overcoming their mirror images was the most difficult thing they had done so far, and had it not been for the fact that Zevran would indeed always win in a duel with her, it might have ended differently. Panting and bruised, but prouder than ever, they left the room.

‘Pity Morrigan isn’t here, she could fly over this,’ Zevran said, looking into the chasm that opened before them.

Núria walked around the edge of the gap and stumbled when with a metallic sound a ghostly part of a bridge materialised the moment she set foot on an ornamented tile. ‘What in the name …’ She walked to the other side, taking a while, stepping from one to the next ornamented floor tile, muttering under her breath as she did so. Finally she stepped back to her companions. ‘Zevran, left side, third tile.’ Zevran raised an eyebrow. ‘Keep moving,’ Núria said slightly impatiently, and he stood where she had commanded him. ‘Sten, right side, second tile.’ Without revealing any of his thoughts on this, he did as he was ordered, and the formerly transparent part of the bridge became firm. The next one was visible, again, in a ghostly form. ‘Wynne, left side, last tile,’ she said eagerly, and the mage walked quickly to the place Núria had indicated. The second piece was opaque.

‘It looks solid enough, but toss a rock before you risk it,’ Sten said. He hadn’t spoken loudly, but his deep voice carried to her as though he was right at her side. Carefully, she tested the ground. It was, indeed, solid. She moved on to the second piece of the bridge, and, unable to stop herself, she looked down. The room began to spin around her instantly, and she reached out to a spike on the corner of the bridge. She closed her eyes for a moment and willed the dizziness away. Keeping her voice as firm as possible and hoping desperately she had remembered everything correctly, she directed the others from one tile to the next until the bridge was complete. When she left it on the far side, it gave a great crunching sound behind her and remained there, even when the others left their tiles and ran to join her.

They faced a wall of fire and an altar before it. ‘Mother of mercy,’ Zevran breathed. ‘It … it is real!’ He looked utterly awe-stricken, staring past the fire at what had to be their target, up a flight of stairs only a few steps away. Unconsciously, Núria brushed against him when she walked up to the altar, bringing him out of his reverie. She wiped dust off it with her sleeve to see the inscription properly.

‘Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit,’ she read aloud. ‘King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker’s sight.’ She rose again, and without so much as a glance at the others, she began to strip. Judging from the rustling sounds behind her, the others followed suit. She expected a comment from Zevran, but he remained silent. Even so, she could practically feel his gaze on her. She stuffed her clothes into her bag and flung it high over the flames before she approached the fire, feeling its warmth. Three more bags went flying, and taking a deep breath she made the final step. The flames engulfed her, but they didn’t take her breath or burn her. All she felt was a warm breeze. She left the wall of fire behind her and unpacked her clothes. Checking if anyone was looking at her, she chanced a good look at Zevran while she dressed. Taut muscles played under the tanned skin of his chest as he moved, and she had to exert some force on her traitorous eyes to stop them from wandering lower. She closed her leather armour quickly, thinking no one had noticed, when the devious grin he flashed her told her that she’d been very wrong.

Mad at herself, she strode up the stairs and stood before the urn. She saw Wynne tense next to her. Somehow it stung that the mage believed she was actually do Kolgrim’s bidding. ‘I will not do it, Wynne.’ The mage relaxed. Carefully, almost reverently, Núria opened the urn and spooned a small amount of ash into a pouch. She closed it very diligently, making sure she would lose nothing of her precious prize. They found a door on the side of the room. ‘Does that lead further in?’

‘It leads out, if you ask me,’ Zevran told her, and she smiled.

‘I do,’ she said softly. ‘All right … About Kolgrim. I would like to get past him without a fight, let’s tell him we spilled the blood and hope he buys it.’ She opened the door and stepped out into the cold air on the mountain top. She spotted Kolgrim pacing where they had left him, and approached him, doing her best not to look too guilty.

When he saw her drawing near, he stepped up to her with a fierce glare. ‘You have been to the Urn, but Andraste has not been freed. What manner of treachery is this?’

Núria put on her best innocent look. ‘But I did free Andraste, can’t you tell?’ She saw at once that it was no good.

‘Lies!’ Kolgrim thundered. ‘You have betrayed us, betrayed our Lady! And now you will die. Behold, the fiery vengeance of Andraste Herself!’ For a horrible moment Núria thought Kolgrim would somehow summon the dragon that seemed to be fast asleep on its pinnacle. Instead, he rushed forwards, accompanied by a few of his followers, including a shoulder-high dragon. He was an excellent fighter, but in the end Núria found this was easier than getting past their mirror images. She tried to use some of the lessons from Zevran and watched him whenever she got a chance, hoping for something she could copy. From Kolgrim’s body, Núria pilfered a horn.

‘This will call the dragon, I assume,’ Wynne mused. Hastily, Núria put it amongst her own things. She had no desire whatsoever to try her own skill at conversing with great lizards.

At last, with a sigh, she sheathed her weapons and started walking up the path to the door that would lead them back through the labyrinthine caves to Genitivi. ‘We can go back there,’ Zevran said from a short distance behind her, ‘or we take the other door down there. It could be the one we couldn’t open, the one in the long corridor near the main hall.’

‘Try to open it from here,’ Núria said eagerly. ‘A short-cut sounds like a great idea.’

Zevran approached the door and pushed down the latch. With a groan, the door swung inwards. ‘Especially as it will save us explaining to the cultists in the large cave what happened to Kolgrim.’

Ϡ

Genitivi had remained where they had left him, and he was delighted to hear about their findings. He started talking about allowing pilgrims to visit the urn and said if they ever chanced to get to Denerim, they should visit him. Promising they would do that, Núria and the rest walked back down to Haven and from there to their camp.

The journey to Redcliffe was comparatively short. Those they had left behind reported a couple of uneventful days had passed, and they were well rested. Núria herself was much less so, but she felt she had to push herself to her limits if Eamon was supposed to have any chance to survive.

Indeed, when they came, Bann Teagan led them hastily to where the arl was sleeping. A brother sprinkled the ashes over him while muttering prayers, and Núria felt herself tense with anticipation. She had never put stock in legends and religion, but this was their only hope – and indeed, by some miracle the dying man woke up, and there was not agony in his eyes but a searching look. She looked away from him as he asked for Isolde, and Teagan finally ushered everyone out, saying he would tell him everything that had happened.

Núria had expected Eamon to be angry like Alistair had been, that he would hail curses at her and tell her what she should have rather done. Instead, he stated, pained but calmly, that he knew she had done what she had to, and thanked her. She felt shamed when he knighted them all champions of Redcliffe, but she knew better than to refuse.

‘We should speak of Loghain, brother,’ Teagan said finally. ‘There is no telling what he will do once he learns of your recovery.’

‘Loghain instigates a civil war, even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep,’ Eamon replied. ‘Long I have known him. He is a sensible man, one who never desired power.’

Teagan shook his head. ‘I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon. He is mad with ambition, I tell you.’

‘Mad indeed,’ Eamon muttered incredulously. ‘Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself, and destroy my lands. Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What’s more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end.’

‘What are you proposing, then?’ Núria asked, glad that for once it was not she who had to make the decision.

‘I will spread the word of Loghain’s treachery, both here and against the king,’ Eamon said. ‘But it will be but a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain’s allies a pause, but we must combine them with a challenge he cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain’s daughter, the queen. I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred.’

‘You intend to put Alistair forward as king,’ Núria said softly, more to herself than to Eamon.

‘Teagan and I have a claim through marriage,’ the Arl explained, ‘but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair’s claim is by blood.’

‘And what about me?’ Alistair asked loudly. ‘Does anyone care what I want?’

‘You have a responsibility, Alistair,’ Eamon said strictly. ‘Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?’ Alistair muttered something and shook his head, looking rather like Ivanhoe when he was scolded. ‘I see only one way to proceed. I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all of Ferelden’s nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another.’

Núria had to agree with that, it seemed a sensible enough course of action. Before they left, Jowan was brought up from the dungeons, and despite her plea to let him go, Eamon said he would hand him over to the Circle. Jowan took this bravely enough and even offered her a small smile when she left. Out in the open, she looked at Alistair.

‘The Dalish are in the Brecilian Forest, I believe you said?’ she asked him, and with a sigh, he nodded.

‘If we can find them at all, it is there,’ he said vaguely. ‘That is in the far east of Ferelden, though, Orzammar’s nearer.’

‘And up in the mountains,’ Núria said, shivering from the mere thought. ‘Eamon will need a lot of time to organise this Landsmeet anyway, I think we should go to the Dalish first. I don’t want to crawl up another rock just yet.’


	12. The Hunted Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Ahem. I hereby declare the rating to be justified for both reasons I mentioned in the summary. That is to say here comes not only smut but also a rather drastic conversation about sexual violence.  
> This chapter heading is the name of a quest in Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines.))

As they moved to the east, the climate became milder and the landscape more pleasant. Harsh mountains gave way to rolling green hills. Slowly their supplies of meat waned, leaving them only bread and grain. The Korcari Wilds, including Lothering, had been overrun by darkspawn, so straying south to restock there was out of the question. Núria gnawed listlessly on a piece of bread one early morning, when Leliana nudged her shoulder. ‘Care to go for a hunt?’ she asked, bow in hand already.

‘I can’t shoot if my life depends on it,’ Núria admitted.

The bard chuckled. ‘That may be true, but I guess with all that Zev has been teaching you, you can sneak up on deer and stab it in the back. Come on, we can’t live on bread all the time. There’s a forest just behind the hill, we will find something there for sure. But you must promise that you won’t let Alistair make a stew of what we’ll catch.’

Núria laughed and rose. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. We should let Zevran have a shot at it, he has endless numbers of herbs he swears taste incredible.’

‘Don’t let Alistair hear that,’ Leliana smiled. ‘He still thinks he’s going to kill us one day sooner or later.’ They walked away from the camp, following a narrow path along one of the steeper hills. A cliff of clay fell down to a clear stream that had dug into the soft ground. Before them the path turned right into a forest just visible behind the hill. An arrow came flying from the other side of the stream and missed Leliana’s head by inches. Both their eyes darted to where it had come from. Three archers stood there, taking aim again. Núria and Leliana started to run to get behind the bend. They were intercepted by a mabari, the way back was cut off by an elf with a long sword.

The two women stood back to back, Leliana shooting up to the archers on the cliff and killing two of them within moments. Núria let out a scream as the mabari buried its teeth in her left forearm. It didn’t let go but ripped at her, trying to make her fall. Shaking off the pain, she hit the beast on the forehead with her sword, and it fell down into the stream, dyeing it red. Her armour was ripped and her arm bleeding, but she could still move her fingers. Leliana had managed to get rid of the last archer and had swapped her bow for a dagger. Wordlessly they fended off their attackers, glad of their position on the narrow path. Finally they crossed the stream a short way ahead and walked up the hill to make sure the archers were truly dead. A man with a sword and dagger was standing there, but he dropped his weapons instantly when he saw them approaching. Leliana walked up to him, and he started shaking with fear, trapped between the angry Orlesian and the cliff.

‘These are not common bandits,’ Leliana told Núria without taking her eyes off the man. ‘Their weapons and armour are of fine make, and they are well-trained. You know what I am talking about? Who are you?’ She wasn’t even shouting, but the anger etched in her face was so fierce that Núria was sure the man would have melted into the ground if he could.

‘Someone who regrets taking on you,’ he said weakly. ‘Was told it would be an easy job. Kill the little red-haired girl, deal with any others as we pleased.’

Leliana blinked. ‘Kill the – kill _me_?’ She glanced at Núria, who frowned.

‘I’m used to this kind of thing, but who’d kill Leliana?’ she asked, fearing that she knew the answer.

‘It don’t pay to ask why someone wants someone else dead,’ the man said, coughing. ‘I just need to know what to do, and where to get my money.’ He laughed, sounding slightly mad. ‘Ha, money. I’ll be lucky to get away with my life, it seems. Maybe we could work something out? You’ll like the idea.’

‘Speak quickly,’ Leliana snapped.

‘I’ve no real quarrel with you,’ the man offered, trying to sound soothing. He only succeeded in sounding like a coward. ‘Wasn’t me that wanted you dead, but I know how you can find the one who does.’

‘Your life for information then,’ Núria said coldly.

‘I have some directions written down on how to get to the house,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s in Denerim. Here … It’s the best I can do.’ With a shaking hand he handed a piece of parchment to Leliana.

She took it roughly. ‘Thank you. Now leave. I never want to see you again.’

‘Get lost, before we change our minds,’ Núria said darkly, wondering if it was a good idea to let him go. She wouldn’t have. The man bolted, and Núria glanced at Leliana, hoping for an explanation.

‘It’s Marjolaine,’ the bard said softly. ‘It has to be.’

‘I was thinking of the Orlesians,’ Núria admitted.

‘Oh, they would not hire mercenaries,’ Leliana answered, removing her arrows from the bodies of the archers. ‘They would come after me themselves. No, if anyone, it’s Marjolaine. Maybe someone saw me … Maybe she’s finally found me and wants to finish what she started. Oh, bother.’ She glanced at an arrow whose tip had remained in the body of its target. Tossing the piece of wood aside, she glanced at Núria. ‘Perhaps it’s time to settle this score for good. If we get to Denerim, could we look at that house?’

Núria gave her a grim smile. She folded up the sleeve of her armour and put one of the poultices Wynne had them all carry around on the wound. ‘Of course. Do you want to return to camp rather than go hunting?’

Leliana snorted. ‘I’m still hungry, and skinning something sounds like the thing I’d like to do right now.’

Ϡ

They actually found a hare, and Leliana hung it up on a tree right there and then. They had taken almost all day, the sun was low and travelling west already. ‘I once heard you leave deer lying around for a day or two before you skin it,’ Núria wondered loudly.

‘Hanging, not lying,’ Leliana corrected her. ‘But if we do that out here in the wilderness, there won’t be much left for us, will there?’ She offered the dagger to Núria. ‘Do you want?’

The elf laughed. ‘No, thanks, I think I’ll pass. I’ve never done this.’ Shrugging, Leliana put a large pot under the dead animal and cut off its head to let it bleed dry. ‘We’ll keep the blood, it makes the sauce better. While we wait, I have a question. I watched you marvelling at those boots late last night. Where did you get them?’

‘I found them in Haven, but they don’t fit me,’ Núria said. ‘They’re too large, I guess I’ll sell them in the next village we get to.’

‘No!’ Leliana cried, looking positively scandalised. ‘You can’t sell them!’

Núria stared at her. ‘They won’t fit you, either.’

Leliana looked at her as if she had gone mad. ‘Oh Maker, no, don’t you know what they are?’

Núria blinked. ‘They’re boots, and they’re supple and well-made, but otherwise … I can ask around in camp before I sell them, if that’s what you mean.’

Leliana rolled her eyes. ‘I took a good look at them.’ Even though they were alone, she lowered her voice when she continued. ‘They’re not Fereldan, Núria. That’s Antivan leather, it must be. I’ve never seen the like.’

A smile spread on Núria’s lips. ‘Oh, I get it.’ She gestured to the hare, dangling before them on its hind legs. ‘Don’t you think its done dribbling?’

Leliana poked it. It swayed pathetically, a single drop of blood falling down into the pot. She removed it and put a lid on it. ‘I guess.’ She started cutting around the feet before carving downwards the length of the legs. She seemed to have done this before, judging from how sure her cuts were. She proceeded with pulling the skin down. It looked like it went off easily enough with occasional help from the dagger. When she was done, she cut open the hare’s underbelly. Carefully she reached in and removed the entrails. Finally she wiped her hands in the grass. She found the liver amongst the other inner organs and carefully freed it from the gall bladder. ‘The lungs and the heart I leave inside,’ Leliana said simply, wrapping the liver into a few large leaves before placing it in the now empty animal. ‘The liver we should prepare separately.’ Finally, she eyed the skin wistfully. ‘Shame to leave it behind, but we won’t find a tanner before it would smell. Oh, well, you can’t have everything.’ Leliana cut her hare loose and took it by all four legs. ‘Carry the pot for me, would you?’ Grinning, Núria did as she was asked while the bard led the way back to their camp. ‘Oooh, I’m curious what Zev will make out of this.’

‘Dinner, I suspect,’ Núria replied with a smile. She had tasted almost everyone’s cooking, only Zevran and Sten had never yet showed off their skills. Sten, like Morrigan, kept to himself, but, other than the qunari, the mage sometimes would deign to join them for an evening, and when she did, she always provided the food – mostly in form of a salad made of all sorts of plants she’d gathered. Wynne usually cooked her meat and prepared some vegetables to go with it. Alistair threw everything he considered edible into a pot full of water and let it stew until it became indistinguishable. Leliana liked her meat roasted so shortly that it was still rather raw but knew that Fereldans had other preferences and put theirs on the fire before her own piece. Núria knew only the cooking from the alienage, and that was mostly meal mixed with a lot of lard and a little salt. It didn’t taste too bad and provided nourishment, but she had eaten enough of that for a lifetime, so she did the others the favour to let them try it, but borrowed cheese from Alistair rather than eating it herself.

When they returned to camp with their prey in semi-darkness, Alistair rushed towards them, looking slightly frenzied. ‘Where were you? We were worried here!’

‘Hares don’t normally come out peacefully when you call them, you know?’ Leliana said lightly. ‘Oh, and we had to deal with a couple of assassins who were sent to kill me on the way.’

‘Very funny,’ Alistair muttered, apparently thinking she was joking.

‘Let’s not tell him just yet, please,’ Leliana said, and Núria grinned wryly.

‘When he wonders who we’re looking for in Denerim we can always say we tried to tell him but he didn’t listen,’ she replied. Leliana called Zevran over and gave him the animal.

He glanced into the pot in Núria’s hands and grinned. ‘Orlesians … Very well, I’ll ask Wynne for a dash of her red wine. Give me two hours.’ With that, the Antivan had handed the liver wrapped in leaves back to Leliana, who decided to eat it the next day.

By the end of a couple of hours, a delicious smell wafted through the camp. Even Morrigan glanced over from her small fire. Alistair seemed torn between hunger and distrust, but when he saw Zevran seasoning the sauce, he figured it was unlikely that he risked poisoning himself. Núria was just wondering if she would survive long enough to see the meal finished, when Zevran called out that he was done. Trying not to look to needy, she approached. Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana followed her, Morrigan however turned firmly to her bag and produced a piece of stale bread. Sten was nowhere to be seen. Zevran divided the hare into five generous portions, and they sat on the floor and ate in silence.

Núria had to admit she had never eaten anything so delicious, and from the sounds Leliana made, even she was enraptured. That said something, since of them all she was the most squeamish when it came to food. When Núria’s plate was empty, she said, ‘You know, even if you had poisoned this food, I wouldn’t mind much.’

‘Death by delight?’ Leliana asked. ‘Not the worst thing I can imagine.’

Zevran grinned. ‘I told you I’m useful.’

Núria smiled at him. ‘You’re more than useful. All of you.’

‘You know, this settles it,’ Alistair declared. ‘I’m not going to cook ever again.’ Leliana cheered at him. Wynne disappeared for a moment and returned with a full bottle of wine.

‘I wouldn’t know of a better opportunity for this than now,’ she said and handed it to Alistair to open it. Lacking glasses, they passed the bottle around.

‘How much wine are you carrying with you?’ Leliana asked casually.

‘That was all. And I’m rather relieved I do not have to carry it anymore.’ When they had finished the bottle, Wynne retreated to her tent, Alistair left to sharpen his blades, and Leliana left Núria with a nudge in her ribs and a vague gesture towards her bag.

Núria got the hint. ‘I think I have something for you.’ She rushed to her tent to get the boots.

His jaw dropped when he saw what she offered him. ‘Where did you get them?’ He reached for the boots and brought them to his nose, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

‘In Haven,’ Núria replied simply, watching him.

‘That smell,’ he breathed. ‘But this is really Antivan leather, isn’t it? I would know that anywhere!’ He chuckled and opened his eyes. ‘Thank you, Kira.’

‘Try them on already.’ she said softly, and Zevran laughed.

‘But I’m not finished admiring them, yet!’ he replied fervently, taking another noseful of the boots. ‘Can you smell that? Like rotting flesh. Just like back in Antiva City. Now if only you could find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder, and a corrupt politician, I’d really feel like I was home.’ He laughed, and Núria joined him, enchanted by the simple joy on his face. At last, he shed the boots he had been wearing and slipped into those Núria had found. He stood up and walked around the fire in a very proud gait. ‘And they fit, as well!’ he called to her. ‘Marvellous!’ He returned to her, slumping on the floor before her. ‘Is there a way I can thank you?’

The trail of her thoughts was slowed from Wynne’s wine, which had gone down so smoothly she had underestimated its strength. Perhaps, she wondered, it had been the food after all, who knew what those herbs did to her? On its own account, her hand reached out to Zevran’s face, caressing him along the line of his tattoo. ‘Do you have more of these?’

‘You saw them back in Haven,’ Zevran said. ‘I know you did.’

‘Show me,’ she breathed to him.

‘Out here?’ Zevran replied, leaning forwards. Núria rose and beckoned him to follow her to her tent. She slipped in before him and closed the flap behind them. She felt his hands on her bodice and turned round to be gathered into a tight embrace that included his hands wandering down her back to cup her buttocks.

With a pang and unbidden, memories of her first time flooded Núria’s mind. How scared she had been, and how little she had wanted it; how dirty she had felt afterwards. She remembered Valendrian, who had talked her into this, in private. How he had told her that chances were she would one day be carried off into the castle to be raped there. How he had held her hands, his eyes utterly sad, as he said it would at least hurt less if she had the first time behind her.

Zevran released her from his embrace and frowned slightly. ‘Having second thoughts?’ he asked without sounding remotely concerned that it might be so. Wordlessly Núria shook her head, and Zevran gave a soft laugh. ‘Somehow I think that talking to you will be a better idea just now.’ He managed not to look very disappointed. He dropped to the floor to sit cross-legged before her and tugged at her hand. ‘Come on, let’s get whatever is on your mind out of our way.’

Reluctantly she sat on her bedroll, but she looked away from him. She couldn’t look him in the face. A moment ago she had thought she wanted this, damn it, she would not have asked him into her tent otherwise. ‘I’m sorry …’

Zevran waved her apology away. ‘Don’t. Might I make a guess?’ She nodded. ‘You’ve never done this, and now you’ve realised you might die thus.’ Núria blinked at him, then she laughed. Zevran frowned slightly. ‘So that is not it?’

Núria smiled. ‘No … no, Zev, that is not it. I … I _have_ in fact done this. Does that disappoint you?’

Zevran snorted. ‘Why would it? Personally, I like it better if my bed partners are not scared.’ Núria flinched and stared at her hands. Zevran sobered immediately, his easy smile giving way to a hard look. ‘Is that it? Have you been forced?’

Núria shook her head. Shianni lying on the ground before the arl’s son with that deadened look in her eyes floated through her mind. ‘Not I. A friend. On what was supposed to be … a celebration. They killed another girl. And raped my friend. I found her right after they were done with her.’

‘Whoever _they_ are, I take it they are dead now.’

Núria did look up at Zevran’s face now and nodded. ‘I killed him. He had a habit of going to the alienage with a few of his guard and return home with some of us. Some he took on a regular basis. Some once, others never. We … we knew it might one day be our turn, so we … found someone we trusted to spend a night with. Our _hahren_ advised us to that, he said it would be less painful.’

Zevran sighed softly. ‘For all my lack of first-hand experience in that matter, my guess would be he was right.’ His voice was almost an octave lower than normally, his face more serious than she had ever seen it before. ‘This was your question from the guardian, no? I … have done many things that would make Leliana scream for my head on a platter, but this I never did. I’ve seen a few of the others at it, or heard them. One said the screams and sobs made him come, me they made sleepless.’ Zevran gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Telling you that I never even tried to stop this should send you running, too, I assume. One, a man named Carros, said it isn’t as good if they don’t struggle. I had the displeasure to watch him taking a girl, an elf, no less, who cannot have been older than fifteen, right on a table in a tavern. She might as well have been a virgin, considering how much she was bleeding. Or not, brutal as he was I am not sure that such a little detail would make much of a difference.

‘The day after we cornered our target … a guarded man. Carros was excellent when fighting one person, but in combat with more people he easily lost track. We were five Crows, apart from him, and we knew this. We did nothing to protect him that day, we knew we were enough without him. He died at the hand of the guards. Rape wasn’t a common issue, but it did happen. The rapists often died early, I can only assume that no one cared to stop them from being killed, like we did that day. But no one hindered them, either. We just went away when we heard the screaming. You see, there are many reasons why I’m better off here than with them.’ Zevran closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, his face contorted with obvious disgust. For a moment he hesitated. ‘Have I scared you away from me now?’

Slowly, Núria shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘May I ask if you ever actually enjoyed sex?’ Zevran asked. Slowly, she shook her head. He took her hands into his. ‘Then why did you invite me into your tent?’ Núria shrugged, but Zevran kept his eyes firmly on her face, apparently not contented with that. ‘I just wonder, if you do not expect to derive pleasure from it, only embarrassment and probably some discomfort, you must think that it would … do some good in another way. This is not a gift like boots, Kira.’

‘I know it can be good,’ she managed after a few seconds. ‘I thought if anyone could make it good it’s you, Zev.’

A slow smile spread on Zevran’s face. ‘You never considered you might prefer women?’

‘I don’t,’ Núria answered.

With another sigh, Zevran moved around her and knelt behind her. ‘Do you trust me, Kira?’ He waited for her to nod, then he placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I will do nothing you do not want. Just say the word and I will stop. Now I would have an easier time rubbing your back if you got rid of that leather.’

Unthinking, Núria obliged. She wondered for a moment how many had died trusting him, but she knew she had nothing to fear from him. Below her armour, she was wearing only a small piece of cloth covering her breasts – apart from the poultice on her arm. Zevran didn’t even try to peek over her shoulder, he dedicated himself to her back. Núria hadn’t even known how tense she was. His warm hands seemed to know exactly what she needed, and she gave a contented sigh. She felt his breath in her hair and realised how very close he was. Slowly, she reached up and behind her to touch his head, threading her fingers through his hair while she leaned sideways to look at him. Zevran moved to her side, facing her. He brushed his fingertips against her cheeks, moving closer still, until his lips ghosted a kiss against hers. Núria’s eyes fluttered shut, and Zevran took that to be an invitation, this time kissing her deeply, sliding his tongue into her slightly open mouth, one hand on her cheek and one on her side. ‘I wasn’t quite done with you, you know,’ he breathed when he withdrew. ‘If you get out of those breeches and lie down, I will continue.’ When she hesitated, he said, ‘Trust me, I don’t bite … much.’

Núria laughed softly and did as he said. She did feel rather self-conscious, but the moment Zevran began massaging her legs, she forgot all about that.

Zevran took a lot of time with her. His fingertips sometimes erred beneath her briefs, lingering a little longer every time they did, until he started kneading her buttocks under the fabric. A soft moan escaped her lips. ‘Do you like that?’ he whispered, and she nodded. Zevran slid one hand up the inside of her thighs, and automatically she spread them slightly. His hand brushed against her sex through the fabric, and again she moaned. Zevran tugged at the small garment, and Núria lifted her hips to let him remove it. Somehow she didn’t feel ashamed.

She sat up to look at Zevran. His pupils were dilated, his lips slightly parted. His hands moved to the cloth covering her bosom and removed it deftly. He cupped one of her breasts and brushed his thumb over the nipple. Her gaze wandered from his face and found a considerable bulge in his trousers. Looking back into his eyes, she placed her hand on it, and he took in a sharp breath. Wordlessly, she stripped him, taking in his lean body and the tattoos trailing down his chest and over his abdomen to blend into the line of sparse hair creeping up from his sex. For the first time she really wanted to _feel_ a man. As Zevran hugged her naked form against him, she felt his arousal pressing into her belly. ‘Last chance to back out,’ he informed her, and Núria replied by kissing him, slowly and hungrily. Her hand reached down and brushed against his erection, never daring to touch him in earnest. ‘I’m not made of glass, you know,’ he whispered, and Núria closed her hand around him, slowly moving it up and down. Zevran closed his eyes and breathed deeply, before he tore himself away from her. He pushed her gently onto her back, sliding his hands down from her shoulders over her breasts to her stomach. He leaned over her to kiss her before his mouth followed the path his hands had laid out, stopping at her breasts and leaving a moist trail of kisses between her nipples. Gently, he parted her legs and slid a finger between them before he kissed her there.

Núria gasped. ‘What … are you doing?’

Zevran chuckled. ‘Showing you something.’

Núria thought she would explode at his ministrations. She moaned and writhed, and whenever he withdrew for a moment, she wished nothing more than that he returned to her. She was well aware that he was playing her like an instrument, working her towards ecstasy but never quite letting her get there. Her breath was ragged when he moved back up to look at her. ‘May I?’ he asked. Instead of an answer, Núria reached down and placed him at her entrance. Slowly and more easily than she had ever known it, Zevran slipped into her, his eyes locked on hers. She had never felt anything so good.

He started moving slowly, pulling out all the way before sliding into her moisture again. Núria closed her eyes, focussing on how he felt. She moved in time with him, registering the wet sounds they were making. When Zevran picked up pace, she started moaning louder, meeting his thrusts greedily. Zevran’s breath smelled of his spices and Wynne’s wine, and somehow that added to her arousal. With a low groan, Zevran pulled out of her, and before she could protest, he flipped her around and straddled her before plunging inside again.

Núria cried out when he entered her again. In the back of her mind she knew the rest of the party might hear her, but she couldn’t care less. She pressed her face into her pillow, moaning at every thrust. In her current position she was entirely helpless, pinned to the floor by the Antivan’s thighs and his hands at her sides. He was thrusting into her with abandon, moaning as much as she, and she felt something hot building below her navel. Desperately she pushed her hips up against him as well as she could, screaming his name as the pleasure reached its peak, almost making her pass out. Zevran felt her muscles contracting around him, and with a groan he came buried deep inside her. After a few seconds he let himself fall down by her side. His hand on her shoulder caused her to look up at him. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly, and something seemed to melt in Zevran’s eyes. At the same time, he tensed slightly.

‘So, what now?’ he asked her.

A grin formed on her face. ‘I was just going to ask you that.’

Zevran chuckled. ‘I leave this entirely up to you, sweet Kira. I take my pleasures where I find them – let me say that I didn’t expect to find such pleasure when I came to Ferelden, though. Anyway, I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give.’

‘That sounds fine by me,’ Núria said, very aware of the fact that what had just happened had nothing to do with emotion, at least on his part – and, she thought with determination, she would not allow herself to turn maudlin and lose what he had to offer.


	13. War-Torn

When Núria and her companions reached the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest, Morrigan left them to look for a camp of the Dalish. She didn’t take long, reporting that not much deeper in the woods there was indeed a group of elves, many of them injured. However tempted Núria was to talk to them alone, both Alistair and Wynne persisted she take them with her. ‘I’ll go with Zevran,’ Núria said finally. ‘If there is trouble, I’ll fetch you. I just have a feeling I’ll be received with less scepticism if I don’t come with _shemlen_. No offence.’ Wynne frowned slightly, but she even stopped Alistair from protesting with a gentle hand on his arm and a shake of her head.

‘What do you know of the Dalish?’ Núria asked Zevran while they left their camp in the direction Morrigan had indicated.

‘Not much more than you, I’m afraid,’ the Antivan replied. ‘Maybe you should ask Leliana?’

Núria frowned slightly. ‘Should I have brought her, instead?’

The answer came in form of her being grabbed by the shoulders and pushed against a tree. Zevran’s lips collided with hers in a fierce kiss. ‘I don’t know. Should you?’ He let go of her a lot too quickly for her taste. ‘Kira, why are you angry at me?’

The question came so unexpectedly that she stared at him. ‘I’m not angry.’ she protested then. ‘Not at you, anyway.’

‘At the fact that you’ve been made the leader of this chaos-troop?’ he suggested, continuing to follow the path. ‘They have a tendency to give you the feeling that everything depends on your next step. And they’re right, you know. Thing is, leading them does not necessarily mean that you have to do everything alone.’

‘I’m used to doing things on my own,’ Núria answered. ‘I want to do things on my own, I don’t know how to work with others. Only that never anything depended from what I thought before.’

Zevran raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you really think a woman like Wynne would do as you say if she didn’t think you do something right? Or Sten, for that matter?’ Núria blinked. Zevran threw an arm around her shoulder. ‘See? I’m right. Don’t worry so much.’

Tension bled out of her, and she relaxed against his side. ‘Chaos-troop … Couldn’t have put it better.’ Zevran just started to speak, when a woman stepped right into their path.

‘Hold, outsider,’ she said fiercely. ‘You may be of my kind, but you’re not Dalish. Why are you here?’

‘I have business with your leader, actually,’ Núria said after only a little hesitation.

‘And what business is that?’ The tone of the hunter that had intercepted them was sharp, sceptical.

Núria had not expected a warm welcome, but the open animosity she was met with astonished her all the same. ‘I am a Grey Warden.’

‘That is not a lie many would attempt,’ the hunter said, and Núria felt a strong desire to hit her. ‘I will bring you to the keeper, then, and he can decide if your business is worthwhile.’ Without waiting for an answer, the woman started following the path onwards, and after exchanging a short glance with Zevran, Núria followed.

The guard brought them before a bald elf with an elaborate tattoo on his face. Núria noticed that almost everyone there was tattooed. Many featured a stylised wreath of twigs on their foreheads. The keeper turned out to be a much less sceptical man and introduced himself as Zathrian. He knew of the Blight, but when asked about fulfilling the treaty his people had once signed, he sighed and led Núria and Zevran to a group of gruesomely injured elves. ‘The clan came to the Brecilian Forest one month ago, as is our custom when we enter this part of Ferelden. We are always wary of the dangers in the forest, but we did not expect the werewolves would be lying in wait for us. They … ambushed us, and though we drove the beasts back, much damage was done. Many of our warriors lie dying as we speak.’

‘Is there no way to help your men?’ Núria asked, watching a woman, probably a healer, forcing some greenish liquid down a writhing man’s throat.

‘The affliction is a curse that runs rampant in their blood, bringing great agony and then ultimately either death or a transformation into something monstrous,’ Zathrian explained. ‘The only thing that could help them must come from the source of the curse itself, and that … that would be no trivial task to retrieve.’

‘In which case we’re exactly who you want here,’ Zevran said nonchalantly.

‘Within the Brecilian Forest dwells a great wolf,’ Zathrian told them, sounding slightly reluctant. ‘We call him Witherfang. It was within him that the curse originated, and through his blood that it has been spread. If he is killed and his heart brought to me, perhaps I could destroy the curse, but this task has proven too dangerous for us. I sent some hunters into the forest a week ago, but they have not returned. I cannot risk any more of my clan.’

‘We’ll find this Witherfang for you,’ Núria said at once. Zathrian raised his eyebrows.

‘I must warn you that more than werewolves lurk in the Brecilian Forest,’ he said. ‘It has a history full of carnage and murder, you see. Where there is so much death, the Veil separating the spirit realm from our own becomes very thin, allowing spirits to possess things living and dead. But if you can indeed help … then I wish you luck.’

Núria turned to leave, but she stopped after a moment. ‘One more thing. I’m bringing two _shemlen_ with me. One is also a Grey Warden, the other is a healer.’ She didn’t wait for Zathrian to answer before she strode away from him to get a good look around the Dalish camp.

The situation seemed to be dire indeed. There was a man whose wife had disappeared and who had no proof of her death. He believed that she had turned into a werewolf and that Zathrian was keeping that information from him. Núria promised to keep her eyes peeled.

The hunters being tended to were all unconscious, some were having seizures. All of them were suffering from wounds that just wouldn’t heal.

Sarel, the tale-teller, told the story of the fall of the Dales. It told of Andraste, who had given the Dalish their freedom, and of the humans that tried to force them to forget their Old Gods. Sarel concluded it by saying that the Dalish were the last that upheld the old beliefs, calling them the Keepers of Lost Lore.

Before they would go to fetch Wynne and Alistair, Núria approached Varathorn, whom Zathrian had recommended to her in case she were in need of supplies. He was the clan’s craftsmaster, and he informed them that in order to craft something of any worth he needed ironbark. This was a kind of wood found only deep within the forest, but no one was allowed to go there. With a sigh, Núria promised him to bring some back to him, should she find any.

They left the Dalish to go back to camp and inform the others that they might as well make themselves at home. Wynne had once suggested building a hearth of clay, but since they had never remained in one placer longer than a night, it would have been too much effort. Now they might as well do that. Wynne and Alistair would come with her. Núria wondered whether it was wise that both the remaining Grey Wardens risked their necks at once, but she found that Alistair was such a reliable fighter she didn’t want to have to do without him. Wynne, on the other hand, looked after all of them with such great care that leaving her behind was entirely out of the question.

Wynne persuaded them to remain in camp for the night. It was late already, and Núria used the time to inform the others of what they had found. ‘I saw the werewolves,’ Morrigan said with a nod. ‘They didn’t seem at all mindless, though. I wonder if that Zathrian told you all he knows.’

‘What does it matter?’ Alistair asked darkly. ‘They attack the Dalish and seem to seek to destroy them.’

‘Exactly, and since we need their help, we have to help them first,’ Núria told them. ‘I’m not doing this out of benevolence, Morrigan. I have to.’

‘Perhaps you should rather get the help of the werewolves,’ Morrigan mused. ‘Apparently they are more powerful than your Dalish.’

‘And I would think much less likely to help us,’ Wynne said gently. ‘Núria, before we retire, can I have a private word with you?’

Núria sighed. ‘Certainly.’ She allowed herself to be led away from the others. She gave Zevran a small wink, who took this to be an invitation and entered her tent rather than his, wearing a grin.

‘Yes, well, exactly that is what I wanted to speak about,’ Wynne said softly, watching him. ‘You seem to be rather close.’

Núria grinned. ‘You noticed?’

‘I almost wish I didn’t,’ the mage replied. ‘Half of us aren’t getting any sleep, the way you two carry on all night.’

Núria blushed. ‘We’ll try to keep it down next time.’

Wynne sighed. ‘That’s … kind of you, I suppose. I just wonder what you see in him. And what you think he sees in you. It seems he only ever has one thing on his mind. I question the wisdom of a Grey Warden being involved in such an affair.’

Núria stopped in her tracks. ‘I think you underestimate him. And me, for that matter. We have fun together. We are travelling through a wrecked country, and I am doing my best to make it better. If I need a distraction, will you deny me that?’ She made a harsh gesture when Wynne was going to say something. ‘Did I ever fail to do my duty because of what we have?’

Wynne shook her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘No, you didn’t, Núria. But I think you should be aware that you may be forced to make an end to this. Perhaps it’s best to do that now to save one or both of you unnecessary anguish later.’

‘So I should inflict pain now to avoid it later?’ Núria asked. ‘Great logic. See here … When I do something stupid because of this, you can say “I told you so” as much as you like, but I’m not going to deny myself the only good thing that happened to me so far because it may not last very long. I take what I can get.’ She realised how much she sounded like Zevran in that moment, and perhaps Wynne noticed that, too, because she simply shook her head and bade her good-night.

Ϡ

As they trudged through the Brecilian Forest the next day, they barely talked at all. Never had a forest felt so _alive_ , there was an almost palpable sense of being watched on them all. Normally they remained within shouting range, chatting away with whoever was near, but now they walked in a tight group, each of them with a slightly dark expression. They found an injured soldier a short way into the forest, and soon after, they met their first werewolf. He was flanked by two smaller specimen of his kind and looked at them with a savage glare. A dark scar ran across his left eye. He greeted them with a low growl. Núria had just unsheathed her sword, when the creature before her began to speak. ‘The watch-wolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters,’ he said. His voice sounded more like a gurgling growl than anything, but it was clearly speech. ‘Another of the Dalish, come to put us in our place, come to make us pay for our attack.’ The fact that the beast before them was actually talking needed a few seconds to sink in.

Núria remembered Morrigan telling them that the werewolves weren’t as mindless as they were thought to be, but she hadn’t mentioned human speech. ‘You … you can speak? I thought werewolves are savage beasts.’

‘We are beasts, but we are no longer simple and mindless,’ the wolf replied. ‘Let that thought chill your spine.’ The creature told them that his name was Swiftrunner, and that they wanted the Dalish to pay. For what, he didn’t say. The talk didn’t last long, for after a short exchange the werewolves attacked them. Before they could be slain, however, they backed off and warned them that the forest would sooner or later stop them.

Núria looked at her companions. ‘He didn’t mean that literally, did he?’

‘I believe that we should be very, very cautious,’ Alistair replied, moving to walk before her, sword and shield in hand.

When the first tree started moving, creaking loudly, and lashing at them with its branches, they realised how literally exactly Swiftrunner had meant what he had said. Wynne managed to set the rogue tree on fire, so that it fled and fell pathetically to the ground after a few paces. ‘What exactly was that?’ Núria asked fiercely, shaking from head to foot with shock.

‘A spirit,’ Wynne replied. ‘A great war tore the veil apart in this place, spirits can move freely from the Fade into our world.’

‘Why would a spirit possess a tree, of all things?’ Núria asked with a hint at desperation in her voice. Wynne merely shrugged.

They met more of these weird trees, and soon Alistair noticed that they looked different. Núria couldn’t really tell how he saw which tree would try and attack them, and neither did the others, so Alistair walked ahead of them, and whenever he found a spirit-tree, he would tell them to wait at a distance, so that he could lure it back to them. Núria discovered a fallen tree that seemed to feature ironbark, and she hacked it off the trunk to bring it back to Varathorn. Between more werewolves and the occasional darkspawn, the spirits were the most worrisome things they encountered, when Alistair suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, staring at a particularly large oak tree. ‘Oh no,’ he breathed. ‘This thing is one of them, too. Let’s try and avoid it.’

Núria strained her eyes to see beyond it. ‘There is a camp fire behind it, look. Let’s try and sneak past it, perhaps it won’t see us. I doubt it can run very fast anyway.’

Inch by inch, they drew nearer, and they already thought they could indeed go unnoticed, when the tree creaked, spreading its branches like arms, and looked at them in the way Núria might have looked at a curious insect. ‘Hrrm … What manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?’

Núria stood frozen in mid-step, listening to the tree talking in a very deep voice. ‘You’re not going to attack me, are you?’

‘Ah, thou speakest of the others, how filled they are with hate?’ the tree asked. ‘I apologise on their behalf, they cannot control their fate. Allow me a moment to welcome thee, I am called the Great Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree.’

‘The world is certainly full of marvellous, unexpected creations,’ Wynne said in awe. ‘Each day we see something we never thought possible.’

‘Most of said creations are rather hostile, though,’ Alistair commented. After a moment, however, he sheathed his sword.

‘And unless thou thinkst it far too soon, might I ask of thee a boon?’ the tree asked.

Núria wanted to say that once she was here, she could as well help. ‘What … are you, exactly?’ she asked instead.

‘I am an elder oak and nothing more, though once I dreamt of a time before, when I roamed the world and howled with pain, not of this world, but twixt and twain,’ the tree replied in its rumbling voice. ‘Perhaps I was a spirit then? A wandering thing drawn to this glen? But then that spirit joined with a tree; since then, a tree is all it be.’

‘Just … why do you speak in rhymes?’ Núria asked, unable to help it.

‘I do not know,’ the tree said. ‘Why do you not? Thy words seem plain, a mundane lot. Perhaps a poet’s soul’s in me. Does that make me a poet tree?’ Wynne chuckled behind Núria, and Alistair slapped his plate-gloved hand against his forehead.

Núria exchanged a glance with Zevran and grinned. ‘A poet tree. Yes, I get it.’

‘It was but a simple jest, a jibe to entertain my guest,’ the tree said modestly, and Núria felt sure it would have bowed if it hadn’t been so stiff.

‘So … you mentioned a boon before?’ Núria asked weakly.

‘I have but one desire, to solve a matter very dire,’ the tree said, a sad note entering its voice. ‘As I slept one early morn, a thief did come and steal an acorn.’

‘And you want it back, I take it,’ Núria said.

‘All I have is my being, my seed,’ the tree told her. ‘Without, I am alone indeed. I cannot go and seek it out; yet I shall die if left without.’

Núria sighed. ‘Very well, I will help you.’

‘Go to the east to find this man,’ the tree said, waving a branch in that direction. ‘I shall await, do what thou can.’

Núria bowed and they moved on to the fire they had spotted behind the huge tree. A very inviting bedroll and a tent were there, too. A great desire to lie down and sleep filled Núria, and a huge yawn from Alistair told her he felt the same. At once she thought of the demon in the Circle Tower, and she tried her best to shake the feeling off. ‘I can’t do this again,’ she said almost pleadingly. Besides her, Wynne was the only one still standing. Zevran was lounging by the fireplace with half lidded eyes, and Alistair sat opposite him. Núria yanked at the templar’s arm, earning an angry groan. ‘Move, get up!’ she said fiercely.

Wynne had stepped over to Zevran and poked him hard in the ribs with her staff. ‘We’ve got to go, and quickly.’ With a strength Núria hadn’t expected from her, she lifted Zevran up, pushing him hard towards where they had come from. Before their eyes, the fire disappeared and there were bones littering the floor. Zevran stared wide-eyed at a rotting corpse with its head on the bedroll. ‘Look out!’ Wynne said loudly, pointing at a shade, drifting towards them with an angry growl.

Alistair shook his head like a wet dog and charged. ‘There’s one more marvellous creation for you.’ He slammed his shield against the shade, knocking it backwards. Núria and Zevran were on it at once, still feeling strangely slow, but certainly determined. The soft rush of magic sounded and she felt the fatigue leaving her. A second came, and Zevran sighed with relief, lifting both his weapons high over his head and slamming them into the shade from the left. Núria did the same on the other side, and it sank into the ground. They took a look around the camp.

Zevran swapped his dagger for a second sword he took from one of the corpses. ‘I always wanted to try my strength that way,’ he said at Alistair’s raised eyebrows.

‘Have you ever tried a longsword?’ the templar asked.

Zevran performed a slow motion fight with thin air. ‘Did. Too clumsy.’

‘A bastard sword, then,’ Alistair mused. ‘A little lighter than a two-handed weapon and therefore quicker.’

Zevran grinned. ‘And here I thought you were offering me your sword.’

‘Ha-ha,’ the templar growled, but a slight smile tugged at his lips. He glanced at one of corpses. ‘Can we just move on? I don’t like standing amongst bones, thanks.’

Núria opened a lockbox and produced a pair of gloves. They looked Dalish. ‘Oi, Zev!’ She tossed them over to him.

Zevran caught them deftly and blinked at her. ‘Gloves? You’re giving me gloves? What for?’

‘I thought you might like them?’ Núria suggested, realising that she sounded much more hurt than she liked.

‘I did not mean to sound ungrateful, it is just …’ Zevran stuttered to a halt and looked more closely at the soft leather in his hands. ‘Wait … These are Dalish, are they not? My mother was Dalish and had a pair very similar to these. The leather was less thick, and it had more embroidery … but these are very close. And quite handsome.’ He smiled at her, and it looked too genuine to think he was just trying to soothe her.

‘I found them just here,’ Núria said softly.

‘Still, I appreciate the fact that you even thought of me,’ he replied in a gentler voice than she had heard from him so far. ‘No one has simply … given me a gift before. Thank you.’ Núria bit her lower lip in order to stop herself from telling him there was no way she could _not_ think of him. Brushing her hand against his, she walked past him in the direction the Great Oak had indicated to them.


	14. Fly To The Moon Into A Tantrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((If anyone with German as their native tongue and a liking for more sinister music should be reading this, they might recognise the chapter title as part of a line taken from the ASP song 'Maybe'. Every time I start a new chapter, I say to myself that this time I will not use a quote, and almost always I readily break the promise. Thanks again to all those that keep reading!))

In the eastern parts of the Brecilian Forest, the path made a full circle with a number of junctions leading to a graveyard – and a werewolf, hugging itself and rocking back and forth in agony. Núria approached it very cautiously, weapon readied. Before she got there, she was knocked to the floor by another of the creatures. She protected her face with her arm and felt sharp teeth breaking through the leather into her skin. When Alistair brought his sword down on the werewolf, it held her only harder. All this time, the whimpering creature did nothing at all, it didn’t even look at them. Helpless from the heavy weight on her and the thing holding her left arm, Núria had to wait until Alistair had freed her. Her armour was bloodied, but the pain in her arm wasn’t as bad as she had expected. She walked up to the pained werewolf she had approached in the first place and lifted her sword. She was ready to strike before the creature, savage with pain, would attack them in a much more frenzied manner than any had done so far. ‘You are an elf, but none of the Dalish,’ the creature rasped suddenly, and Núria lost her grip on her sword. It clattered uselessly to the ground, her arms still lifted. ‘I was, until my … change. Have you … seen my clan?’

A gentle hand took hold of Núria’s arm and pulled it down. She blinked a few times and looked into Zevran’s worried eyes. ‘You … are a Dalish who turned into a werewolf?’ The question was nothing more than a displacement activity, and she knew it.

‘Yes, just scant days ago,’ the creature gurgled. ‘You know what happened to us?’

‘Can we help you?’ Núria asked, turning to Wynne. ‘Can you?’

The mage shook her head.

‘My name is Danyla,’ the werewolf said. ‘My husband … he is called Athras. Please, you must … bring him a message. The scarf I wear … bring it to him. Tell him I love him. Tell him … I’m dead and with the gods … I beg you.’

‘Athras … We met him, in the Dalish camp,’ Wynne muttered softly.

‘I want him to be at peace,’ Danyla said. Her paws reached for Núria, settling on her arms. Even this barely hurt her at all. ‘He is a good man. Please do not … let him suffer, thinking of me.’ The werewolf gave a howl of pain. ‘The curse is fire in my blood,’ she growled. ‘Please … end it for me … quickly.’ Núria felt her sword being placed in her hand, but she couldn’t move. She stared at the creature before her, feeling as if asked to kill her kin. She didn’t know how many seconds passed before Zevran thrust his sword into the heart of the werewolf. It looked so slow …

He sheathed his weapon and shook Núria slightly. ‘What’s the matter with you? What were you waiting for?’

She had to shake herself back to her senses. ‘I … I don’t know.’

Zevran fixed her with his gaze. A strong, metal hand grabbed her left arm – hard. Pain seared through her body at the touch. She had to concentrate to follow the arm up to Alistair. Without a word, he yanked up the sleeve of her armour. The flesh underneath was torn. She stared. ‘I didn’t notice …’ she said, uncomprehending. ‘I’m sure it looks worse than it is, if no one digs in their fingers it’s bearable.’ Alistair looked at Wynne, and Núria followed his gaze. The mage looked stricken.

‘Oh, Kira,’ Zevran sighed. ‘I suppose we have to hurry.’

She shook her head. ‘Why? I cannot turn. I’m already tainted.’

‘This is a curse, not the taint,’ Alistair said evenly. ‘He’s right, we’ve got to get Witherfang. Wynne …’ He had said her name with such desperation in his voice that the mage winced.

‘I can perhaps slow the process, but I cannot stop it,’ she said.

Zevran made a step forwards. ‘Then do that, do whatever you can.’

Wynne placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I will.’ With light pressure on Núria’s shoulders, she made her sit on the ground. Wynne put a poultice on her arm and gave her a potion. After a minute Núria felt better. The fog in her brain seemed to lift, the world had returned to normal speed. ‘Núria, I will put a shield on you. I believe speaking with Danyla sped up the process. I hope to stop this from happening at later encounters, but I cannot promise that I can uphold the spell.’

Núria nodded, feeling stupid and weak. ‘Let’s just move on, I prefer not dying just yet.’

The graveyard at another junction was guarded by two ogres, who, luckily, weren’t very bright and did not fight them together. One ogre at a time was manageable. Considering what it had taken to defeat the one on the Tower of Ishal, they had obviously learned a lot on their way to the Brecilian Forest. Inspecting the place more closely, Zevran nudged one of the headstones. ‘ _No_ … You fool,’ Wynne moaned, backing into a tree as the earth trembled underneath him. From one moment to the next they were surrounded by skeletons, in their midst what Morrigan had once called a revenant. Alistair ran towards it, while Zevran and Núria tried to stop the other corpses from stabbing at the templar from all directions.

‘Was that I?’ the assassin asked when only the revenant was left.

‘I don’t know,’ Núria said vaguely, slashing at the body, trying to breathe as shallow as it was possible in combat to avoid getting sick from the stench. ‘But if ever I’m tempted to kick a tombstone, tell me why I shouldn’t.’

Zevran gave a weak laugh and thrust his sword into the place where the heart of the revenant had once been. This didn’t make much of an impression. ‘Bleeding, shrivelled monster, go down already!’

Alistair’s sword cut the revenant’s head clean off its shoulders. ‘And stay down!’

Beyond the graveyard, they found a tent. Warily, Núria approached it. ‘Another shade?’ She took three quick steps backwards when a small, old man appeared before her out of thin air. ‘What the …’ she muttered.

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ the man said, sounding harried. ‘Not a werewolf, and not a spirit even, what are the woods coming to?’

‘Wait, are you the thief who took the Great Oak’s acorn?’ Núria asked abruptly.

‘Mayhap I did, and mayhap I didn’t,’ the man replied. ‘Have you come to claim it back? Oh, what fun! But we are getting ahead of ourselves already. Ask a question, and you’ll get a question, but give an answer and you’ll receive the same. Oh, I do so love to trade.’

‘You … want me to ask a question?’ Núria asked with a frown.

‘Wouldn’t I have to ask you a question first?’ the hermit replied.

‘Isn’t that a question?’ Núria wondered aloud, feeling her head starting to spin.

‘Would you know a question if it was asked?’

‘Are you mocking me?’ Núria glanced sideways at the others, who looked similarly confused. Well, at least it wasn’t her this time.

‘I don’t know,’ the hermit said. ‘Are you mocking me?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Núria said firmly.

‘No!’ the small man yelled. ‘That is not a question! And if it be an answer, it be an answer to a question I’ve not asked. Have you no sense for the rules?’ Entirely lost for words, Núria looked at Wynne for some advice on how to deal with a complete maniac.

‘Be careful,’ she said softly. ‘This is no ordinary man. He is a mage … driven mad, perhaps, but still powerful.’

‘No fair bringing mages to a guessing game!’ the hermit pouted. ‘Will you play by the rules or not?’

Núria shook her head determinedly. ‘I’m not going to put up with this nonsense.’

‘And again you break the rules!’ the mage railed at her. ‘Bah! Bah, I say! Why does anyone talk to you if you don’t even know the rules?’

With her best haughty look, Núria turned away from the mage. She pointed at a tree stump. ‘That’s what he slipped out of.’ She knelt before a small hole in the ground right next to it that led into a small, filthy cave. Another, smaller hole was in the trunk. She inspected it closely.

‘Hold on you!’ the hermit said suddenly. ‘That’s private property! That’s an old man’s home, that is! Keep out! _Keep out!_ ’ Núria ignored him and reached for the hole.

‘Hmm,’ Zevran made next to her, and she looked up at him. ‘No offence, but might I try? I’ve got a quick hand, after all.’ He was wearing a mischievous grin, and Núria stood to give him access to the trunk.

‘Go ahead, show off,’ she said.

Zevran rubbed his hands and knelt beside the trunk. ‘Ha! Let’s see. When was the last time I slipped my hand into some dark hole? Hmmm …. I remember … Long story, that.’ Wynne rolled her eyes slightly and turned away, while Núria watched him groping the hole with a smirk. ‘And there we go! It was definitely trapped, but I am too awesome by far. Here’s what was inside.’ Zevran handed Núria an acorn, but she didn’t have time to commend him on his awesomeness, for now the hermit was angry.

‘You’re a robber is what you are,’ he raged. ‘ _They_ sent you, didn’t they? Well, I’ll show you! _They_ won’t get away with this!’ With a wild gesture the mage summoned two fiery shades.

Wynne sent a fierce spell at the other mage. ‘Maleficar! Disgusting, vile, filthy things!’ Another spell from her knocked him on his back. Núria jumped on him and cut his throat open. Zevran and Alistair had done away with the shades.

‘Oh my, Wynne,’ Alistair said. ‘Who thought you could get angry?’

‘I’m sick of them, can you blame me?’ she asked angrily.

Alistair laughed softly. ‘And here I thought just this once I could see what would have been my task had I ever actually become a real templar.’

‘Next time she’ll leave a little bit for you,’ Zevran told him, clapping him on the shoulder. He glanced at Núria. ‘You all right?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, but I’m getting a headache from all this. I want to get out of here already.’

To the south they encountered the least solid barrier they had ever seen. Fog towered before them, and they could walk through it all right, but they always came out where they had started. Núria decided to return to the Great Oak and perhaps ask if it knew a way through.

‘I bet you the maleficar would have known,’ Alistair said. ‘Not that I believe he would have told us, mind you.’

The Great Oak was overjoyed to have its acorn back. ‘My joy soars to new heights indeed! I am reunited with my seed. As I promised, here it be. I hope its magic pleases thee.’ He handed Núria what looked like a slightly charred branch. ‘Keep this branch of mine with thee, and pass throughout this forest free. I wish thee well, my mortal friend. Thou brought my sadness to an end. May the sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winters kind, and thy roots be strong.’ Núria passed the branch to Wynne, who closed her eyes, weighing it carefully.

‘It carries power, if I may, I will keep it,’ she said.

‘Why does everyone think they have to ask permission?’ Núria replied. ‘Did you think I’d use it myself? Hang on … This will get us through the fog, he said it! Come on, I bet you!’ Núria started running back east, but when she realised that Wynne wouldn’t be able to follow at that pace she slowed down. When they reached the barrier, Núria watched Wynne entering the thick haze apprehensively.

‘You can come,’ they heard her voice after a few moments. ‘You were right, my friend.’ They stood facing an old ruin. After only a few steps towards it, they were stopped by Swiftrunner and his companions again. And again, they engaged them in a fight, apparently angry that the forest had not stopped them. This time Alistair took care that Swiftrunner could not flee again and knocked him to the ground. Núria jumped onto the chest of the creature, and just before she could deliver the killing blow, a large white wolf collided with her, sending her flying from her prey. It gave a drawn-out howl before running away, into the ruin. Swiftrunner followed suit, limping.

‘Ah, there it is, Werewolf City,’ Alistair muttered, bracing himself and walking towards the entrance. ‘Kinda like flea heaven, isn’t it?’

Zevran smirked. ‘I was thinking we might find treasure in there. Do you think there are others to be found than wolf droppings?’

‘Can we just move on?’ Wynne asked. ‘I’m trying to uphold a spell here.’

Soon after they had entered the ruins, Núria was once again completely lost. ‘If you all run away now, I’ll never find out again,’ she muttered.

Zevran chuckled. ‘We wouldn’t dream of it. Morrigan, the frigid cat, if she were here, would be a different matter. But you … No.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Alistair said. ‘I think we haven’t been in that corridor off to the left.’

‘True,’ Zevran said and strode into it before them. He froze in mid-stride when a horrible rumbling sound filled the air. ‘That’s either the roof coming down, or there is something down there. I’m not sure which I would prefer.’

‘It sounded like loud breathing to me,’ Wynne said. They moved on much more slowly. Alistair walked at the front again, weapon readied, but Núria stopped him quickly.

‘Traps,’ she said simply and slipped past him to disarm one. There were several of them, laid out expertly, no one but a person with a very keen eye would spot them. When she approached the last trap, a great roar sounded somewhere on her left. Something huge towered before her, and all went dark.

The next thing she realised was a hand on her shoulder. Carefully she opened her eyes. ‘You have a concussion, my dear,’ Wynne’s gentle voice said. ‘I can only give you something for the pain when we have dealt with the curse, I do not think anything I have to offer would work well with the potion I gave you before.’ Núria nodded vaguely and regretted it instantly. ‘Alistair and I have cleared the path a short way ahead. There are spirits and walking corpses, but I hope it won’t be very far after what we cleansed. I just didn’t want to leave you behind for so long.’

Núria rose slowly and felt dizzy for a moment. There was a dead dragon that certainly hadn’t been there before. ‘What exactly happened?’

‘It didn’t like you destroying the traps,’ Zevran said. ‘So it threw you into the wall with its hind-legs. If Wynne hadn’t been there …’ He didn’t finish the sentence but looked at the mage with a strange look on his eyes. ‘Let’s talk when we’re back at camp, shall we?’

Alistair led them to an enormous room with a set of stairs leading down in its middle. A large orb was placed on a socket in the middle of the room. ‘What is that?’ Núria asked, amazed, and stepped closer.

‘A horror!’ Wynne said sharply. Núria spun around. Before them was a thing the like of which she had seen in the Fade. Corpses with bows and arrows flooded the room, and in the ensuing chaos all Núria could do was stay alive and try and help the others whenever she had time to spare. At last they were alone with the thing floating in mid-air before them. They all ran towards it, but before they were near enough to strike, it teleported to the other side of the room and left the place where it had been crackling with electricity. Alistair gave a yell of frustration. Zevran let his weapons fall and wrenched a bow and quiver unceremoniously from one of the fallen undead. Alistair and Núria followed suit. Núria especially had no training in shooting whatsoever and missed the thing more often than not. Finally Alistair sent an arrow right through one of its eyes, and it flopped to the floor, leaving only a set of robes and some dust behind.

‘What precisely was that?’ Zevran enquired, prodding the robes with his foot.

‘Something like a revenant, but not exactly,’ Wynne explained vaguely. ‘This sphere however looks like an orrery. I believe that is what you wanted to know?’

Núria blinked at her and moved on to the next room after giving the so-called orrery a last sceptical look. ‘Yes, but I don’t know what an orrery is, either.’

‘A model of the sky, if you like,’ the mage explained. ‘We have many of those in the Tower, you may look at them, they’re not only useful but also quite pretty in fact.’ They stopped before a pool of water. There was nothing else there, and all the other paths had led to dead ends, too.

Núria felt slightly desperate. ‘What now? We cannot search every single door for a secret passage.’

The mage knelt at the water and held her hand just above it. ‘I would think that this is the secret passage. There is strange magic at work in these ruins, and this is only one sample. My friends, this isn’t water. It is a door. And unless I am much mistaken we just slew the man who made it.’


	15. The Heart of Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Alas, another Within Temptation song serving as a title.))

Wynne proved what she had said by placing a hand on the surface. She became transparent at once and let go again. She looked at the others, and they all knelt around the small pool, touching the water with their palms. Núria thought they must look incredibly stupid. She felt the same kind of jolt behind her stomach she had noticed when using the pedestal in the Fade, before she knelt on the filthy floor of a new room. There was a strong smell of rot in the air. Only a few steps into the chamber they were accosted by werewolves. They were just about to charge, when the beast in the middle raised its voice.

‘Stop!’ it shouted. ‘Brothers and sisters, be at ease! We do not wish any more of our people hurt. I ask you this now, outsider: Are you willing to parley?’

‘We are talking right now, aren’t we?’ Núria said calmly. ‘So talk.’

The werewolf seemed slightly surprised. ‘Not with me. I have been sent to you on behalf of the Lady. She believes that you may not be aware of everything you should be. She means you no harm, provided your willingness to parley is an honest one.’

Núria nodded slowly. ‘Bring me to her.’

‘Follow me,’ the creature said. ‘But I warn you, if you break your promise and harm her, I will come back from the Fade itself to see you pay.’ Núria shrugged.

Alistair walked right beside her with a slight frown. ‘What if this is a trap?’

‘We’ll fight, that’s what,’ Núria said simply. She felt entirely at ease. A small voice in her head said that she should be more wary, but she ignored it pointedly.

The werewolves led them into an enormous cavernous room. More of the creatures were waiting in there, forming a twisted equivalent of a guard of honour, growling and lashing as they passed. At the end of this lane stood a woman with greyish skin and clad only in vines twisting around her ankles and growing upwards to her hips. More vines were on her arms, an aerial root above each finger. Long black hair fell down well past her shoulders, covering her breasts. A wreath of twigs graced her forehead. Her eyes were slitted like a cat’s and yellow. She had to be a wood sprite if ever there was one. Werewolves were flanking her, looking at her with reverence in their eyes. ‘I bid you welcome, mortal,’ she spoke. Her voice was fleeting, almost like the guardian’s at the gauntlet. ‘I am the Lady of the Forest.’

‘I must admit, I expected another werewolf,’ Núria said.

‘No, that I am not,’ the Lady replied. Her voice was so _gentle_ , how could she be the leader of anything savage? ‘If I could have revealed myself sooner, I would have.’

Swiftrunner, who stood next to her, growled impatiently. ‘Do not listen to her, Lady. She will betray you! We must attack her now!’ Núria felt a sudden, strange regret to have fought Swiftrunner.

‘Hush,’ the Lady said to him. ‘Your urge for battle has only seen the death of the very ones you have been trying to save. Is that what you want?’

Swiftrunner actually lowered his head as though he were shamed. ‘No, my lady. Anything but that.’

‘Then the time has come to speak to this outsider,’ the Lady continued, ‘to set our rage aside. I apologise on Swiftrunner’s behalf. He struggles with his nature.’

‘As do we all, Lady,’ said Núria.

‘Truer words were never spoken,’ the Lady answered. ‘But few could claim the same as these creatures; that their nature is a curse forced upon them. No doubt you have questions, mortal. There are things that Zathrian has not told you.’

This utterance was grist for Núria’s mill. She’d had that impression herself, and Morrigan had uttered the same suspicion. ‘So you can fill the holes in the story?’

‘It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer, the same curse that Zathrian’s people suffer now and that is trying to get a hold on you as we speak,’ the Lady told her.

Núria felt her eyes widen. Could she feel it, despite Wynne’s shield, or was the strength of the mage waning? ‘Why?’

‘Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest,’ the Lady explained. ‘They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man, then. He had a son and a daughter he loved greatly, and while out hunting the human tribe captured them both.’

Swiftrunner growled softly. ‘The humans … tortured the boy, killed him. The girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, but she learned later she was … with child. She … killed herself.’

‘So Zathrian cursed them, I take it?’ Núria asked, wishing she could have cursed the humans that had raped Shianni rather than simply killing them.

‘Zathrian came to this ruin,’ Swiftrunner replied, ‘and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be. He hunted the humans of the tribe. Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures.’

‘Twisted and savage, just as Witherfang himself is,’ the Lady said with a mournful look in her eyes. ‘They were driven into the forest. When the human tribe finally left for good, their cursed brethren remained, pitiful and mindless animals.’

‘Until I found you, my Lady,’ Swiftrunner said reverently. ‘You gave me peace.’

‘I showed Swiftrunner that there was another side to his bestial nature,’ the Lady continued, looking almost motherly at the creature by her side. ‘I soothed his rage, and his humanity emerged. And he brought others to me.’

‘So … what can be done for them?’ Núria asked, Zathrian’s request forgotten. Alistair cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

‘Zathrian must come here,’ the Lady said simply. ‘If he sees these creatures, hears their plight … surely he will agree to end the curse.’

Núria frowned, remembering what Morrigan had said about the werewolves being more powerful than the Dalish – and somehow, it made sense, all of a sudden. Why had she not seen this then? ‘Go get Zathrian, I’ll help you. If they protect him, clear them away.’

‘Núria … think, this is not you speaking,’ Wynne said sharply.

Núria spun around and glared at the mage. ‘I need allies against the blight. Who these allies are I’m not fussy about, really. Are you willing to help me in turn for helping you get rid of Zathrian?’ Swiftrunner growled an answer, but there was pressure on her upper arm, well away from the bite.

‘Are you truly going to do this?’ Zevran asked. His eyes were wide, so wide he would be able to swallow her with them … ‘Slaughter the Dalish?’

‘Only those that are in the way,’ Núria replied. She shook off the rage that seemed to have taken control of her ever since Wynne had spoken. The pressure increased slightly.

‘My mother was Dalish, or so I’m told,’ Zevran said, his voice almost a whisper. ‘I hold no allegiance for them, but this … does not sit well with me. Do not do this thing, I beg you.’

‘You were told?’ Núria replied. ‘You don’t even know, then.’ Suddenly something was missing, something _good_ … It took seconds for Núria to realise that the missing thing was Zevran’s hand on her. It had fallen limply to his side, his eyes were closed, but his face full of pain. The rage cleared away and she shuddered. She reached for him and he cringed away from her touch, his eyes flying open. Núria turned to face the Lady again. ‘No … we’ll find another way,’ she said. She could barely recognise her own voice, but at least she could think again.

‘Thank you,’ Zevran breathed behind her. Odd, how she could see his eyes when he was standing behind her. But his voice was so thick with relief it was visible. ‘I would do as you ask, if you asked it, but … thank you, my Kira.’

Something shut off in Núria’s head at his words. She spun around and pushed him hard in the chest with both hands. ‘ _Stop that!_ Is your memory so bad you can’t even keep my name?’

Zevran looked crestfallen. ‘I … didn’t mean …’ He stuttered to a halt at her glare and backed away.

‘Oh, bugger off,’ she hissed, pushing roughly past him to find Zathrian.

Zevran stared after her, then he turned his gaze on Wynne. ‘Just tell me she’ll be fine.’

Wynne sighed. ‘She will be, once this is over. Let’s catch her, I can give her another potion. But she might be out cold for a few hours.’

They found Núria walking towards them with Zathrian in tow already. Alistair and Wynne exchanged a glance after which the templar held Núria firmly while Wynne forced a potion down her throat. The slight elven woman sank to the floor almost at once. ‘Just a minute,’ Wynne said to the Dalish keeper, kneeling beside her. ‘She’s not quite herself.’

‘She has been a little harsh,’ the keeper said, looking slightly confused. Núria came to only a short while later. Her eyes found Zevran and she wanted to speak, but he shook his head.

‘Later,’ he said shortly.

She heard the pain in his voice and felt scared. ‘I … I didn’t –’

‘Later,’ the Antivan repeated, a little louder, but he brushed his hand over her arm when they walked back, and she felt tremendously relieved.

Núria barely heard the exchange between Zathrian and the werewolves. She noticed that Wynne was saying something at one point, but remaining on her feet required all her concentration at the moment. What she did realise, though, was that Zathrian and the werewolves started fighting, and she automatically attacked the elf. Zevran positively tore her from him, pointing her out to a shade. ‘Those first,’ he said, and all she could do was to attack whatever he was fighting.

It didn’t take very long. Zathrian surrendered, and a moment after he did, the floor tilted upwards. She heard a harsh word in some foreign language before the ground collided with her.

Ϡ

Consciousness drifted slowly back into Núria’s head. ‘Good … be careful my dear, you may still be dizzy.’ She opened her eyes. She was lying in the camp by the fireside with Wynne hovering next to her. ‘You’re safe, and so are the Dalish. Zathrian is dead, but the curse has been lifted. They agreed to fulfil the treaty. Athras has his wife’s scarf back, and we had Varathorn make a bow for you out of that piece of wood. You can practice with what Leliana says is the best bow she’s even seen.’ A slight smile stole onto the mage’s face. ‘I’ll leave you alone now, there’s someone who has kept bugging me about your condition every other minute.’ Wynne drifted out of Núria’s field of vision to be replaced by Zevran.

‘Hey there,’ he said softly. Núria struggled to sit up and he helped her by sitting down behind her. His legs were beside hers, and he pulled her against his chest. ‘Old Dalish curses and concussions don’t go well together, it seems.’

‘Zev, I’m so sorry,’ she said. Her voice was hoarse, but otherwise she felt fine. She extricated herself from Zevran and turned to look at him. ‘What I nearly did … thank you for stopping me.’

‘I didn’t stop you,’ the Antivan answered. ‘You did that yourself. Ki– Núria, you were so strange, you scared me so much I could barely worry about what you might do.’

‘I wasn’t being quite myself,’ Núria said. ‘I don’t mind you calling me Kira.’

Zevran laughed softly. ‘I believe you were most yourself when you yelled at me. But I never meant to anger you.’

She nodded slowly. ‘I know.’ It was so very simple just to lean against him and close her eyes. The warmth of his body felt so good. Her head was swimming as though she had drained a bottle of wine. ‘Will you tell me of your last mission?’ Núria mumbled, resting her head against Zevran’s chest.

He sighed softly. ‘Yes, I suppose it is time.’ She was so close to him she could feel him speaking. ‘You have been a good friend to me, after all. There is no reason to be silent.’ Zevran pulled away slightly, placing a hand lightly on her knee. ‘There is a reason I accepted this mission in Ferelden, far away from home, and it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the Crows. Meeting you, after all, was quite an accident.’ A small smile appeared on his face and he continued. ‘My last mission before this one … did not end well.’ Zevran halted and looked at the fire.

How had she never fully noticed how beautiful his eyes were, how unique their colour was? ‘You … need not tell me now,’ Núria said gently, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

‘No, I’ll tell you,’ Zevran insisted. ‘You must realise that until that day I was cocky and arrogant. I was the best Crow in Antiva, I believed, and I bragged of my conquests often … both as an assassin and lover.’

The first real smile entered Núria’s face, and Zevran’s eyes lit up. He knew what was coming, but still, she had to say it. ‘You were _more_ cocky and arrogant?’

Zevran chuckled. ‘Indeed, you little minx. I was often told I was insufferable … right before I ended up in bed with someone. Such is how it was. One of the Crow masters grew tired of my boasting. My bid for an incredibly difficult mark was accepted, much to my surprise: A wealthy merchant with many guards and completely silent. Taliesen agreed to be part of my team, as well as an elven lass named Rinna.’ Zevran glanced into the fire and his expression became distant. ‘She was … a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked. Eyes that gleamed like justice. Everything I thought I desired.’

‘And you fell in love,’ Núria said softly, feeling not really jealous, but sad that this was not for her to get from him.

‘Rinna was special,’ Zevran continued. ‘She touched something within me. You must understand that I had been trained not to feel anything like that. It scared me. Very much. So when Taliesen said that she had accepted a bribe from the merchant, told him of our plan, I told him to kill her more willingly than I might normally have done. It was easier.’ Zevran swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was deeper than usually and barely audible. ‘Rinna begged me not to. On her knees, with tears in her eyes, she told me that she loved me and had not betrayed us. I laughed in her face and said that even if it were true, I didn’t care.’

Núria’s hands wandered to his and grabbed them on their own account. He fixed his gaze on her again. ‘Taliesen cut her throat and I watched her bleed as she stared up at me. I spat on her for betraying the Crows. When we finally assassinated the merchant, we found the true source of his information. Rinna … had not betrayed us after all.’ Núria fought for something to say, but nothing came to her mind. He was so close, all she had to do was to lean in a little like _that_ to kiss him, to tell him that she wasn’t scared of him, whatever had happened. His eyes closed at her touch and a soft noise from deep within him told her he had understood. ‘We reported that Rinna had died in the attempt,’ Zevran continued when she had put a few inches between them again. ‘But they knew anyway. The master who disliked me told me so to my face. He said the Crows knew … and they didn’t care. And one day my turn would come.’

Núria frowned. ‘What for?’

Zevran’s hold on her tightened. ‘To rub it in my face, perhaps. That I was nothing. That she was nothing. You once asked why I wanted to leave the Crows? In truth, what I wanted was to die. What better way than to throw myself at one of the fabled Grey Wardens? But then something went wrong, and I ended up here.’

‘Do you still want to die, Zev?’ Núria asked softly, dreading the answer.

‘No,’ Zevran replied, and she felt more relieved than when Wynne had told her that the Dalish would be fighting by their side. ‘What I want is to begin again. Whatever I sought by leaving Antiva, I think I have found it. I owe you a great deal.’

Núria very simply couldn’t stop herself. Again, she kissed him, threading her hand in his hair. ‘I’m glad to have you with me.’ Her hand trailed down his side to rest on his hip.

‘Perhaps we should continue … talking in your tent, what do you say?’ Zevran breathed, and without waiting for an answer he gathered her in his arms and carried her away from the sight of the others. Núria spotted Wynne watching them, and somehow the look she gave them was much more benevolent than before.


	16. Lords Under The Mountain

Early in the morning Núria woke to what sounded like people keeping their voices in check in a quarrel. She blinked, trying to shake off the last remnants of dizziness. ‘It’s one more detour, that’s what it is,’ she heard Alistair say firmly.

‘One more? Which was the first?’ This was Zevran.

‘This!’ Alistair answered. ‘We could …’

‘We could have gone in a full circle starting off in the other direction? Oh, yes, that would have spared us so much time! You will not nag her about this, Alistair.’

Núria scrambled to the tent flap quickly. ‘I’m not going to fall apart from nagging. I’m not dying. I just feel hung over. I think it would even have been quicker to go to Orzammar from Haven and then to the Dalish, but the difference cannot be more than two days and who knows what would have happened here by the time we’d have arrived? Also, it’s done. What detour were you talking about?’

‘I was just wondering loudly if we couldn’t go to Denerim on our way back to Orzammar, but I regret having opened my mouth,’ Leliana said angrily. ‘It’s not like I was going to start crying otherwise.’

Núria dropped onto a small boulder. Wynne walked over and offered her a piece of bread. ‘I know you’re sick, that’s the concussion. The potion I gave you will let you keep food. It’s what made you feel drunk before.’

Núria grabbed the bread and started eating without any gusto. ‘I’ve been considering this, you know. I really have, but I think it’s too much out of the way. We would have to go north east, rather than get back on the road to Redcliffe. I believe it’s shortest that way.’

‘You know, we could try and beat a straight path through the wild,’ Zevran said. ‘If we could get directly to the north of lake Calenhad it would be the shortest way, but with any luck it would take us as long as using the road. Also, I don’t know if there are any parts where we can’t travel, marshes or such.’

‘So you’ll try and loose us somewhere in the wilderness?’ Alistair asked.

‘That’s why a sense of hearing is no use without a brain,’ Morrigan said drily. Alistair wanted to flare up again.

‘ _Enough_ ,’ Núria said sharply, flinging her bread to the ground. ‘So we’re taking the road. Is there a village anywhere near? Maybe we can borrow horses.’

‘And send them back with a map?’ Morrigan asked. ‘We would have to buy them, and considering the state this country is in, ‘tis unlikely we’ll get any. Why don’t we just stick to the original plan and go back to the road? Everyone was fine with that before we got here.’

Núria nodded. ‘The thing is, the Landsmeet cannot begin without Alistair. They have to wait for us no matter how long this takes. And considering our luck so far, I bet you anything that it will be the same in Orzammar as it was in the Circle Tower and the Brecilian Forest.’

‘It might be better there, mind you,’ Alistair said. ‘The deep roads are below Orzammar, the place where the darkspawn come from. Normally they clog the deep roads until they spill into the city, or that’s how it’s been described to me. During a blight, they go to the surface rather than that. Orzammar might be our last chance to rest for a few days.’

‘What precisely are the deep roads?’ Núria asked. ‘Was there a use to them some time in the past?’

Alistair sighed. ‘They’re where the darkspawn bring their captives to devour them. No one knows exactly what goes on down there. It’s that part of Orzammar that has been swallowed by the taint. If one day the city itself falls … I’d rather not think about it. Remember, I told you once that when a Grey Warden senses the end coming, they go there to die, to take as many darkspawn with them as they can.’

‘All right, one thing is for sure, we’re not going down there,’ Núria said firmly.

Alistair grinned. ‘Never say die. If anyone must, it should be you and I only.’

‘Why?’ Wynne asked.

‘Because the taint cannot hurt us,’ Núria said simply. ‘It can hurt you.’

‘Yes, but if the two of you go down there and don’t return, the last Grey Wardens will be dead and gone,’ Zevran pointed out. ‘If anyone should _not_ go there, it’s you. You’re the ones who’re indispensable.’

‘Let’s discuss this when we have to,’ Núria said, taking her bread out of the grass. She looked at it closely and deemed it still edible. ‘ _If_ we have to, that is. Let’s get going.’

Ϡ

The way to Orzammar was like a reversal of the journey to the Dalish. The main difference was that hunting and gathering food had become easier the farther they got into the east. Now they journeyed into the harsh lands they had left, and after Redcliffe it became considerably worse. They travelled the last few days without any rest apart from making camp at night. The climate was getting colder as they approached the Frostback Mountains. Snow began to fall in small flocks, and occasionally they had to tread carefully on icy ground. Núria was glad that Zevran had taken to staying in her tent rather than returning to his own after sleeping with her. She kept telling herself that this had more to do with the climate than with actual affection, but it got considerably harder not to speak endearments to him that would only drive him away. She also imagined that his touch was becoming less demanding and more gentle, but she always reprimanded herself silently when she thought so. He had always been careful, any change she noticed was only wishful thinking. Perhaps he thought she was still fragile from what had happened in the Brecilian Forest, that might be it.

But whether she liked it or not, Núria had to admit that she cared for the Antivan. She caught herself wondering what one elven assassin had done to sneak into his heart and if she would ever be able to do that, too. She pushed the thought firmly away to the others revolving around Zevran. Keeping them in check became more difficult every day.

By the time they got near Orzammar, they were all considerably thinner than before and tired on top of that. Being ambushed before reaching the city didn’t make it better, either. Together, the entire party approached the doors, hoping to be fed in there and to find quarters with decent beds. There was an angry looking guard, apparently in an argument with someone trying to get into the city. ‘I don’t care if you’re the king’s wiper,’ he said harshly. ‘Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled.’

Núria hoped she had misheard him. ‘I have urgent need to talk to your king.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ the other man asked. ‘If I don’t get in, no one should.’ He was armed and accompanied by a couple of men.

The guard seemed unimpressed by either of them. ‘Orzammar has no king. Endrin Aeducan returned to the stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his sons. The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it is not settled soon, we risk a civil war.’

‘The Grey Wardens need their traditional dwarven allies,’ Núria said urgently.

‘The wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden!’ the other man shouted. ‘They’re sworn enemies of King Loghain!’ Núria ignored him pointedly and handed the treaty to the guard.

‘Well, that is the royal seal,’ he said after a close look. ‘That means only the Assembly is authorised to address it. Grey Warden, you may pass.’

‘You’re letting in a traitor?’ Loghain’s man blustered. ‘And a foreigner? In the name of King Loghain I demand you execute this … stain on the honour of Ferelden!’

Núria walked the last steps up so she towered over the otherwise taller human, arms folded before her chest. ‘Run to your false king. The dwarves will not hear him today.’

The man nearly fell when he made a step backwards and down. ‘You … you’ll hear of this. King Loghain will see you quartered!’ Núria nodded to the guard and they all passed unhindered.

As soon as they were behind it, Leliana burst into laughter. Núria blinked at her. ‘If all Loghain’s men are so craven, there’ll be no problem for us,’ she managed to say. ‘The way he looked at you …’

‘I’m afraid most of them have more dignity,’ Alistair said calmly. ‘Hang on, what’s this?’ Only now Núria noticed two small groups of dwarves that were obviously having a quarrel. One of them lifted an axe and slaughtered another. As guards approached, they all scattered.

‘That is a budding civil war,’ Núria said, seemingly unperturbed. ‘There goes our hope for rest. I told you so, no luck for us.’ She walked up to one of the guards. Judging from his armour, he was of a higher rank than the rest of them.

‘ _Veata_ , surfacer!’ the guard greeted them. ‘I am bid to let you walk the commons, but keep your place. Warden or not, I want order.’ One of the guards hoisted the body of the slain dwarf onto his shoulder and carried him away, while another wiped the blood from the ground.

‘It seems reconstituting said order isn’t something that needs much strategy,’ Morrigan stated.

‘The Blight is coming and I need Orzammar’s assistance,’ Núria told the guard quickly before he could respond to that.

‘Surface problem,’ the guard replied dismissively. ‘Well, we have no king to hear you. You can join the shouting at the Assembly in the Diamond Quarter, if you want. Bunch of deshyr lords bickering over sand. Bhelen, Harrowmont … is one so different? No Paragon’s here.’

Núria didn’t care what a deshyr or a paragon was. She told the dwarf that much and wanted to suggest that they had a good look around the city, when she was stopped by a woman who had looked and listened to the fight and her talk with the guard.

She introduced herself as Nerav and told them that the late king had explicitly wanted Harrowmont as his successor rather than his son. She showed a deep dislike towards Bhelen, and Núria frowned. ‘Why such hate for Bhelen?’

‘Everybody knows he killed his brother Trian and let his father’s favourite son take the blame,’ she told her with the air of someone explaining the obvious. ‘And many question whether Endrin died abed as we were told … or whether Bhelen helped him along!’

Núria listened to her patiently, but this woman seemed very simple. Simple enough to be easy to manipulate. They moved towards where the guard had indicated. ‘Here’s the thing … I think we should meet back here in an hour and see what we can find in the city,’ Núria said after a while. ‘I will go to these two lords and have a talk with them. And no one gets into a fight unless you’re attacked.’

They left their things for Ivanhoe to guard. Sten was already gone on his own, while Alistair set off with Leliana to the left. Morrigan and Wynne were crossing a bridge, and Zevran had a devious look on his face as he watched them. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,’ Núria recommended. She had listened to Zevran baiting Wynne for a while now, and she didn’t think that Morrigan would be half as patient with him.

Zevran laughed. ‘Jealous, my beautiful Warden? They’re not fit to hold a candle to you. None of them are.’

Núria raised her eyebrows. ‘Have you ever looked at Morrigan? She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Zevran smirked. ‘Oh, I have looked all right. It wasn’t so much fun when she caught me any more …’ Núria shoved him lightly in the ribs, and Zevran chuckled. ‘Hey, you asked!’

‘Yeah, right,’ she said, rolling her eyes.

‘I didn’t mean physically, though. I don’t frighten easily, but Morrigan … She has an agenda, I tell you that.’

Núria nodded. ‘Sometimes I think she does, but as long as she helps me, I don’t mind. Should she try and stand in my way, I will do what I have to, but I won’t like it.’

‘I wouldn’t think you do,’ Zevran said slowly. ‘Like it, I mean. But I’m glad you don’t close your eyes to what she may be up to.’

‘Keep yours open too, for safety. I don’t think she’ll do anything to thwart me, but she is certainly secretive.’

‘Keep an eye on her? I told you she caught me once?’

Núria laughed. ‘I allow you to look away when she takes off her clothes.’

Zevran leaned closer and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Oh, but who knows what kind of magic she may do without them?’

Núria grinned. ‘Whatever it is,’ she replied in the same tone, ‘I’m certain it’s not near as … enchanting as yours.’ Zevran threw his head back and laughed. ‘And talking about candles, I’d rather say that none of us can hold one up for Wynne.’

‘Hmm,’ Zevran made. ‘That depends, I assume. But what I mean is that none of them would have been able to get us thus far. I don’t know how you do it, to be honest. I’ve never stuck with an honourable thing for so long.’

‘Oh, great … first I’m Kira, now I’m a thing.’

Zevran stared at her. ‘That is not what I meant.’

Núria stopped abruptly, turning to face him. ‘No … I know it isn’t.’ She placed a small kiss on his cheek. ‘I do think however that very few of those people would still be around if they had a choice, or somewhere to go, as it were.’

‘Wynne has one. So does Morrigan, as far as I know. I have a hard time trying to imagine anyone forcing her to do anything.’ The thought made Núria smile, if somewhat saddened. ‘I had no choice at first, not really. But to swear an oath to you was my decision, and I’m going to keep it.’

Núria slid an arm around Zevran. ‘I know, Zev. Look, that’s the passage to the Diamond Quarter.’

Ϡ

When they met again, none of them had good news. The two mages had not found much apart from a few dwarves preparing for some sparring event. Sten had tried to find quarters for them all and failed spectacularly. Núria wasn’t that astounded, from her experiences. It looked like no one would let in a stranger at the current time, and if said stranger was a forbidding-looking qunari it wouldn’t help much. Perhaps Wynne would have had more luck. Leliana and Alistair reported that they had been in some slum area where they had sent a very young mother and her baby to the surface, and that another dwarven woman was missing her son Ruck in the deep roads. They had promised that if they went there, they would look for him, and Núria nodded.

‘Good, because that’s where we’re headed next, I guess,’ she said lightly. The others stared at her, and she began to explain. ‘I talked to the representatives of the two men trying to get on the throne. They’re both cowards, and I do not believe I’m going to like either, but I have to help one of them to get my treaty fulfilled.

‘To make this short, Harrowmont’s own men won’t enter this … tourney thing for him for some reason. I didn’t ask into detail but it looks like they find that who wins a tourney is favoured by the … the stone, as it were. Bhelen has evidence that Harrowmont is double dealing a few nobles, but the shaper said the evidence is faked. The shaper could be partial, though. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Alistair. It’s difficult to explain.’

‘To tell the truth, the look on his face expresses exactly how I feel about this,’ Zevran said. ‘I haven’t understood a word of what they all said. Only that Harrowmont’s man ambushed us and was angry we even talked to the other one.’

‘To make it easy for all of us, I will work for Bhelen,’ Núria said. ‘I don’t know if he’ll be a good king, half the people say he is a power hungry kinslayer, but I cannot investigate this. I will find the two nobles for him, one of them is in the tavern … Did you happen to find that?’

‘We did indeed,’ Leliana replied. ‘It’s actually quite nice in there.’

Núria grinned at her. ‘Good, you’re going back.’ She handed the bard a piece of paper. ‘Find someone called Lord Helmi and tell him that it is in his best interest to vote for Bhelen rather than Harrowmont.’

Leliana blinked. ‘Right, I’ll do that.’

‘I will go into the deep roads and find one Lord Dace,’ Núria said. ‘He’s been promised the exact same thing as Helmi.’

‘What do you mean, you’re going into the deep roads?’ Alistair asked. ‘You’re not going alone.’

Núria sighed. ‘No, I’m not. As far as I know he isn’t very far in, so you can come too. And Wynne and …’

‘And me,’ Zevran said at once. ‘Don’t give me that look, you just said we’re not going far.’

Núria sighed. ‘All right. The rest of you try and find quarters … again. We won’t be long.’

Ϡ

Whenever she had thought about the deep roads, Núria had expected a cave system and more darkspawn than she could count. Perhaps Alistair was right, though, and all of them were on the surface violating Ferelden rather than abiding underground. In truth, the deep roads were clearly the remnants of a city, and a glorious one, too. The paths were flagged with inlaid tiles. The walls were crumbling, but there were remains of paintings and mosaics, destroyed for the most part but still visible. ‘A pity we can’t see this place as it was a century ago,’ Alistair said, summing up her thoughts.

There were a few darkspawn, too, and small dragon-ish creatures. Of those they had been warned. They might not be large, but they were still dangerous, attacking practically everything that moved. They lived off the stone they dwelt in, and they were the ugliest things Núria had ever seen. Their heads seemed to consist only of large mouths with small, pointy teeth. Their eyes were small and perhaps blind, and there was little to no room for a brain in their skulls. They made soft high sounds when injured and managed to sound so pained that Núria wanted to spare them if possible. The first time the mouth of one of them closed on her arm made her change her mind, however.

An hour or so into the deep roads, Zevran found a bloody bag lying in a niche. Wrinkling her nose, Núria approached and nudged it with her foot. ‘Since when do darkspawn put their victims into bags?’ she asked no one in particular. Carefully, she opened it and glanced inside.

‘There’s a piece of parchment under it,’ Wynne said and picked it up. ‘Listen … “The ritual was very specific, as such things probably should be. Torso, head, and limbs spread amongst the deep roads to prevent the creature from returning. Looks like they died during the cutting, but we can fulfil the last part in their stead. I’m not familiar with elven rituals – why would I be? – but it seems pretty straight-forward. Shaper Axus.” Then someone scribbled in the corner, “Never even saw the thing. Bet a sword would take care of it. Sod it, and this bag of legs.” Oh, this doesn’t sound comforting.’

Núria contemplated the chopped-off legs in the bag.. ‘Indeed. The blood is completely dry, but the legs aren’t rotting. That can’t be good, can it?’

‘That depends,’ Alistair said. ‘First and foremost on the size of the legs.’

Núria reached into the bag and pulled one out. It was shrivelled and exsiccated but otherwise intact.

‘Large enough to be worrisome,’ Wynne muttered. ‘We should take this with us.’

‘What?’ Núria asked. ‘What for?’

‘To destroy it, of course,’ the mage replied. ‘Or how would you think it would look if this thing decided to stride through Denerim?’

Núria stuffed the leg back where it had been. ‘We’ll leave it at the entrance to the deep roads. If, and only if, we have to return, we can look for the remaining body parts. But I’m not going to do that just for the fun of it.’

Wynne volunteered to carry the limbs of the creature. Devoid of all fluid they weren’t too heavy, but that didn’t make the bag less unwieldy. They left it and would pick it up on their way out again.

From that point it didn’t take long until they found a few warriors warding off what looked like all the deep stalkers in the world. They helped getting rid of them, and the commander of the warriors introduced himself as Lord Dace. Núria grinned wryly and handed him the piece of paper Bhelen’s man had given her.

The lord’s face fell. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I owe you twice now, my life and my house’s fortune.’

‘Perhaps you would return the favour?’ Núria suggested.

‘Ah yes. A favour for a favour. My family is very influential with some of the surface merchants … If you attend any of their stores, you’ll find them quite obliging to any friend of the Daces. I must return now. My men need healing and I want to look into this. Do you wish to travel with us?’

‘Sure,’ Núria said at once. ‘Safety in numbers, right?’

Ϡ

They met Leliana back at their venue. The Orlesian reported that Lord Helmi, however unhappily, had promised to support Bhelen. ‘That’s not the only thing, though,’ she said. ‘There was a very nervous man in there. He spoke about monsters that were hidden in his friends.’

Núria frowned. ‘Perhaps he was mad; or drunken, for that matter.’

Leliana slowly shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. He said something about copies of a song, all of them in the same hand. He gave them to me. They speak of a throne that only one with a true spirit can inherit … look here. All these come from different ages, but it _is_ the same hand, and the signature says Vilhm Madon. People seem to go looking for that … thing, and either end up paranoid or lost.’

Núria looked at the papers and passed them on to Wynne. The mage rummaged in her things and produced a few letters. ‘One of these speaks of someone named Gaxkang. It’s written in the same tone, that all friends are suddenly turned into foes. Perhaps we should keep an eye out for this Vilhm Madon.’

‘We have to keep more eyes out than we possess,’ Núria said. ‘Right now, we go to Bhelen. I’m getting hungry.’

When they reported that they had won Helmi and Dace’s support for Bhelen, they were finally allowed to see the prince. Núria had expected to see someone who differed from the bulk of the dwarves in some way, but he looked just like all the others: bearded and slightly forbidding. ‘I am impressed, Warden,’ he greeted her, completely ignoring the others. ‘Not many outsiders so quickly grasp Orzammar’s rather … convoluted politics. I am Prince Bhelen. Vartag told me of your efforts against the usurper who tried to claim my father’s throne.’

Núria felt like asking why his father hadn’t wanted Bhelen to rule, or whether or not he had killed his brother, but in the end, she found she didn’t care. Perhaps it wasn’t necessary to be a decent person to make a good king. He promised change, and if this place needed anything, this was it. From what she had heard of the slums, there were people without any rights at all down there. If Bhelen was willing to change such things, it could only do the entire city some good. ‘If I help you, do I have your word that you will honour your agreement with the Wardens?’ she asked.

‘Absolutely,’ Bhelen said, and he sounded so sincere that she believed him. ‘And sworn on the mail of my ancestors … as soon as Orzammar is united under my rule. Unfortunately, while this debate rages, I have no power to send the troops you need. You’ve seen for yourself; the city is a slaughterhouse. Criminals run lawless. I could never hold the throne if I allowed such chaos.’

‘Can I do something about that?’ Núria offered.

As she had expected, Bhelen jumped on the idea at once. ‘Jarvia and her carta are behind this bedlam. If you can eliminate them, I promise as king, I will send as many troops as you need to fight the darkspawn. Unfortunately, I have little information on Jarvia. Her base of power is in Dust Town, the lowest part of the city, and my men have few sources there. Maybe the casteless will talk more freely with a stranger.’

Núria shrugged. ‘I’ll look into it. That’s all I can promise.’

‘That’s all I can ask. But I can be of no help until this problem is solved. And every minute we wait, more darkspawn swarm into human lands …’

Núria huffed. ‘I am aware of it. There is one more thing I would request. My companions and I have been unable to find quarters in the city for the time we stay here …’

Bhelen smiled. ‘There is enough room in my home. I will inform my servants immediately. You will have food and rooms for how many?’

‘Seven. Myself included.’

Bhelen nodded. ‘You will lack nothing,’ he promised and bowed them out.


	17. In Hollow Halls Beneath the Fells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Surprise, surprise, another quote. Tolkien, The Hobbit ... A line taken from the dwarves’ song.))

The quarters Bhelen had given them were glorious. Núria’s consisted of a bedroom and an adjacent bath. But for the moment, the bed was all she needed. She locked her door and thought only of a night in safety for a change. A pair of hands grabbed her from behind and for a moment, she was startled. ‘ _Zevran_ ,’ she said then, laughing and turning into his embrace. He kissed her, cradling her neck with his hand. ‘You do know a locked door when you see one, right?’

‘Did you see that strange thing in your room?’ he asked, ignoring her remark. ‘I think they call that a bed. I don’t know when last I slept in one of those.’

Núria grinned. ‘I do. In Redcliffe on the way to Haven.’

Zevran gave her a lascivious smile. ‘Ah, but I was alone there.’ Still clutching her to him, he moved them both over to the bed. It had to be large for a dwarf, for them it was all right in size. ‘I never had the pleasure to have you in a real bed.’ He pushed her gently onto her back, her calves dangling from the edge. He slipped a hand under her tunic and caressed her abdomen.

Núria sighed and let her own hand journey from his face over his chest to rest on his hip. Slowly, they stripped each other. For the first time they had real privacy, not only the illusion of it in her tent. Zevran had a way of looking at her as if it were the first time he saw her. It made her yearn for him more than anything.

She kissed him deeply, pushing him on his back. Pulling away, she brought her hand to his groin. His hips arched up at her touch and he closed his eyes. Núria placed a moist kiss on the tip of his erection before letting him slide into her mouth. Zevran’s eyes flew open and he looked at her as though he wanted to devour her. Núria held his gaze as she moved her head down his length as far as she could and up again while her hand fondled his testes. Zevran’s hips moved slightly, but when controlling himself became too difficult he pulled her up and kissed her fervently. ‘Since this is the first time you do this to me, I assume it’s a début?’ His voice was husky, his eyes half-lidded with desire. Núria nodded. ‘Just so we’re clear, I stopped you because I’d like to last a little longer than this.’

‘Oh?’ Núria made with a small smile. ‘Surely you’re not going to be undone so easily.’

Zevran merely sat up cross-legged and pulled her onto his lap. Núria wrapped her legs around his waist as he slid into her. His arms were around her, hugging her firmly to his chest. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and took a deep breath, moving slowly and deliberately. ‘Sometimes I think I’m undone already,’ he whispered against her skin. ‘Oh, sweet woman, what are you doing to me?’ He looked up and rested his forehead against hers, holding her gaze, occasionally bringing their lips together as they rocked in a slow, steady rhythm.

Núria had no idea how long they were entwined like that, but it was the most intimate touch she had ever felt and she wished it would last forever. When they finally disengaged, Núria gave Zevran a tender kiss, certain he would leave for his own room, but he lay down beside her, pulling her flush against him and nuzzling her hair with such heart-warming certainty that it was very hard to believe this was anything but affection.

Núria drifted slowly into consciousness the next morning. Zevran’s warm body was still pressed against her, and even though she turned around in his arms, he didn’t wake up at once. The blanket had been kicked aside some time at night, so Núria had a good opportunity to look at him … He was way too thin, and so was she. The journey from the Brecilian Forest had cost them much strength. They could only hope that this Jarvia was easy to defeat. She sighed, and one of Zevran’s eyes cracked open to a small slit.

‘’s it morning already?’ he mumbled.

‘As far as I can tell in this light, it is,’ Núria told him. She brushed his hair out of his face and was rewarded by a smile. ‘I assume Bhelen will have breakfast for us.’

‘Breakfast as in a small slice of stale bread, or as in something delicious the size of a bronto?’ he enquired, and she laughed softly.

‘The latter, I hope.’

‘I have a request to make,’ Zevran said, propping himself up on his elbow, and she nodded. ‘Wherever this takes you, do not leave me behind.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that you wouldn’t have taken me to the deep roads if I hadn’t insisted,’ Zevran explained. ‘I can look after myself, you know? The logical thing would be that in such cases neither you nor Alistair go, or at least only one. Since you’re not one to send others into danger, I assume you’ll always stand in the first row. I have a feeling that when we get to the archdemon you’ll lock us all into a closet and run into combat on your own. Don’t do that.’

‘You want to be in the first row, then? I thought you said you liked living.’

‘And I also said that there was a time I was very ready to throw my life away for nothing. That may no longer be the case, but I do not fear death overly much. Also, my oath is to you, not the others. I want to fight by your side, not wait for you or … go looking for nobles in taverns. Ever since we met, I was allowed to be there, even when you had no way of knowing if you could really trust me. Now you do, or at least I hope so.’

‘I would gladly put my life into your hands, Zev,’ Núria said sincerely. Her eyes travelled down his body to two long, almost parallel scars on his side. It was hard to imagine that once they had been fighting to the death. ‘And I see where you’re coming from. I will not exclude you whenever I can justify it. No, listen … Imagine I decide to do something insane and ask all of you to go along with me.’

‘In that case we would have to stop you, no?’ Zevran asked. He rose from the bed and stretched, facing her unabashedly. ‘Let’s find that bronto and have Jarvia for pudding, right?’

Ϡ

The first thing Núria noticed in Dust Town was the stench. Above it, the air was almost uncomfortably warm, especially after travelling through the cold climate outside. Down here, it was cooler, but the air carried a rotting whiff with it. The dusters, as the dwarves called the casteless, all had tattoos on their faces that marked their state. Down here, of course, crime was the only way to survive. Those who did not defer to such methods suffered only the more. Of course they were very unwilling to tell them how to find the carta. It seemed they knew, but even gold wouldn’t make them speak. All they found out was that the entire place seemed to have ears. Núria decided to try that out. They talked, loudly enough to be overheard, but not so loudly that people would know they were baiting them. After a while, they moved towards a house at the end of the road and stepped inside. A group of armed dwarves were in there, and Núria had to work hard not to grin. She made a quick grab for the arm of the one on the front and felt him respond to free himself – quite aptly so, but at the same moment she pretended to try and keep her grip on him, she let go, hooking her foot into his knee at the same time, and he crashed to the floor with her landing atop him. Núria casually blew a strand of short hair out of her forehead. ‘So where’s that Jarvia everyone keeps talking about?’ Her dagger resting at his throat was completely at odds with her careless tone.

The man beneath her didn’t dare to move. ‘The base is below the city,’ he said quickly. ‘Y-you can get to it through the wall of the third house in this row. Put this token through the slot and it’ll open. Will … will you let me go now?’

Núria turned her eyes at the ceiling as though in thought. She fondled the token he had given her – a finger-bone, no less – in her free hand. ‘Um … let me think … I guess not.’ With a smooth movement she cut his carotid open and got off him. The others attacked them, but they were not much of a match for them.

‘You’re a good student,’ Zevran told her as they left the house.

Núria gave him a smug look. ‘I didn’t think it would work.’

‘I guess I am a bad influence on you, too. I thought you’d let him go.’

‘Because she let you go?’ Alistair asked. ‘ _That_ took me by surprise. This was more like her. Killing people without blinking, whether they be on the floor … or caged.’

Núria stopped in her tracks. ‘You know?’

Alistair laughed drily. ‘He was going to be killed anyway, so no one bothered asking you if you’re insane.’ Zevran raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh you think you’re dangerous? You’re less so, because you look it. This sweet, small elven girl here … Uh-oh. Now don’t look at me like that. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to jump this on you ever since I heard of it.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Zevran asked, a slight grin on his face, looking from one Warden to the next.

Núria patted his shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you when we’re done here.’ She stepped up to the place the thug must have meant. There was a small slot, barely visible. She tried to peek inside, but there was only darkness. She put the bone into the slot without much hope of success, but a soft click told her a lock had been opened, and the door opened by a fraction.

The carta seemed to have their headquarters in a system of tunnels. There were more thugs in here and a few assassins, judging from their fighting style. All the same, they were not nearly as skilled as Zevran.

Jarvia, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. She met them in a room far back in the tunnel system, and she was not at all pleased that almost her entire carta was dead. She ran so fast that she managed to hide from their eyes however they tried to keep their focus on where she was, only to appear at one of their backs. Zevran seemed hurt in his honour as an assassin. His face was twisted with concentration, and he was muttering under his breath in Antivan. Alistair allowed him the final blow, deliberately stepping out of his way. ‘Either she was really good, or we’re more worn-out than I care to believe,’ Zevran commented, cleaning his weapons on Jarvia’s clothes.

Following a corridor leading out of this room, they ended up before a door that just wouldn’t budge until Alistair rammed his shield against it. They emerged in a small, dingy shop in Orzammar’s proper. ‘By all the beards of my ancestors!’ the shopkeeper exclaimed. ‘How did you … Where did you come from? Y-you made a hole in my wall.’

‘Sorry about that,’ Alistair said calmly, brushing dust off his plate mail. Núria worked hard on not bursting into maniacal laughter at the look on the dwarf’s face. She kept fighting the urge until they finally stood before Bhelen.

The good news had obviously already reached him, for he greeted Núria and the others with a broad grin. ‘Well, you’ve simply outdone yourself. They’re talking all over the city about how someone finally went through Dust Town and slaughtered the carta like genlocks.’

‘So where are my troops?’ Núria asked.

‘Not yet. Killing Jarvia brought me greater favour, but to truly displace Harrowmont, we’ll need something dramatic enough to end the debate forever. What do you know of the Paragon Branka?’

‘The what?’

‘She was a girl of the Smith Caste who rose to nobility for her brilliant inventions. Two years ago, she heard of something the ancients created. It inspired her to leave everything behind and venture into the deep roads. She is the only living Paragon, and she turned her back on her responsibilities. They’re like living ancestors. If she returned, her vote would outweigh the entire Assembly. Anyone with her support could take the throne unchallenged.’

‘So she went into the deep roads two years ago,’ Alistair said. ‘My guess is, she’s either dead or insane.’

‘In that case it might be best if she did not return,’ Bhelen said simply.

Núria snorted. ‘I can see you hold her in high regard. If she isn’t what you expect, you want her to be killed.’

Bhelen’s smile didn’t even falter. ‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t want that All I mean to say is that if she prefers remaining in the deep roads rather than help her rightful king take the throne, we must assist her. By any means necessary.’

Núria rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s say I’ll look for her … Where should I start?’

‘She has been traced as far as Caridin’s Cross,’ Bhelen explained. ‘Her trail ends there. Perhaps with your Warden’s expertise, you can find what my men could not. Here you have a map. I suggest you be careful not to lose your way down there, for a topsider it might be difficult to keep track.’

Walking down to the deep roads, Núria sized up her companions. ‘Alistair, you cannot come with me. We cannot both go into the deep roads.’

‘You _need_ to take me with you,’ Alistair replied. ‘We’re the only ones that cannot be affected by the taint. I also think that two of us are more reliable at warning the others.’

‘You’re my senior Grey Warden, though only a few months. You would be the greater loss. No, don’t argue! You stay, and if I do not come back, you must complete what we have begun.’

Alistair sighed. ‘So who will you take?’

‘Sten, I guess. And Wynne because I need her. And Leliana perhaps. I’ll decide when we get there, right?’

‘We should think this through carefully,’ Wynne said. ‘We do want to find out again, don’t we?’

Núria sighed. ‘We will,’ she said without any conviction. ‘We have to memorise landmarks for once.’

‘Or you take someone you can trust he will not get lost,’ Leliana said. ‘Also, I strained my ankle, I would slow you.’

Núria spun around quickly enough to see a very short exchange of glances between her and Zevran. ‘Did you jump down a few stairs in order to strain it?’

Leliana looked scandalised. ‘That you even suggest such a thing! Do you take me for a coward?’

‘No, I take you for a conspirator.’

‘As long as people conspire to keep you safe, I’m with them,’ Alistair said. ‘You’ll take either me or Zevran.’

‘Are you in on this too?’ Núria asked. ‘And since when do you trust him?’

‘Could you please not talk about me as though I’m not here?’ Zevran interrupted. ‘I’ll make it simple. If you don’t take me with you, you will have a remote shadow.’

‘I could stop him,’ Sten offered.

‘No,’ Núria said. ‘Wynne is right, we need a guide. Also I …’

They never learned what else she had wanted to say. A dwarf who smelled more of alcohol than was common stepped in their way. ‘Stranger!’ he called out. ‘Have you seen a Grey Warden hereabouts? I heard tell that he … or was that she? – you understand, that was several flagons ago – was setting out to search for Branka on the prince’s own orders.’ His voice was destroyed from constant drinking, and Núria felt slightly disgusted.

‘I am the Grey Warden, and that would be “she”,’ she told him.

‘Well, if you’re the best they’ve got, then standards must have fallen way down,’ the dwarf said. Núria saw Sten’s hand move to the hilt of his sword at those words, but she shook her head at him and he lowered it, if with a frown. ‘But I suppose that would account for an elf being down here. Say, could I ask you a favour?’

‘That’s rich. First you insult me, then you want something.’

‘Name’s Oghren,’ he said as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘I’m about the only one still trying to save our only Paragon. And if you’re looking for her, I’m the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her.’

‘Why would you care if no one else does?’

‘Why?’ Oghren echoed. ‘We were sodding _married_ until she left me and took our whole house into the deep roads on her mad quest for the Anvil of the Void.’

‘Come again?’ Alistair said.

‘The Anvil of the Void,’ Oghren repeated with reverence in his voice. ‘Probably the most important invention in Orzammar’s history. The smith Caridin built it, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, while it was protected by the golems forged on the Anvil. As far as anyone knows it was built in the old Ortan Thaig. Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. All she knew was that it was past Caridin’s Cross. No one’s seen that thaig for five hundred years.’

‘You look armed and armoured like a warrior,’ Núria said.

‘Aye. If you want I can take care that you’re left well alone.’

‘So I would have a guide _and_ a protector in you.’

‘Please don’t tell us that you’re planning to go with him alone,’ Alistair said urgently.

Núria considered the dwarf. ‘No. But it’s settled then. You’re staying. I still need Wynne.’ Núria felt Zevran’s eyes on her. She smiled vaguely. ‘And I don’t want a shadow.’

‘If you order me to stay back I will, but I will not like it,’ Zevran said softly.

Núria grabbed his shoulders and looked at him. ‘You know that death is not the worst that can happen to you down there? You’ve thought this through and are not just being reckless?’ Zevran nodded. ‘Fine … Come on then.’

A broad grin formed on the assassin’s face and he made a quick step forward to stand next to her. ‘Who would take care this Oghren keeps his hands off you if I’m not there?’ he asked in a very carrying whisper, and despite herself, she laughed as they set out into the deep roads.


	18. Janitor of Lunacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((For once I really recommend listening to the song that lent me the chapter title, for it fits so well. Go look for Janitor of Lunacy by Soap and Skin on Youtube. It's a cover, but this version is so wonderfully dissonant that it fits better than the original. Take the first link you find.))

The moment they had stepped out of the city into the deep roads, Wynne turned a charming smile at Oghren. ‘Say, would you be so kind as to carry this for me?’ she asked indicating the bloody bag with the strange legs they had found.

‘What d’ya need that for?’ he asked, glancing suspiciously at the thing.

‘Well, I hope to complete a ritual. If you don’t want to carry it, I will have to, and that would slow us ever so much.’

With a growl Oghren hoisted the bag over his plate covered shoulder. ‘Ah, at least it’s not heavy.’ Wynne smiled slightly triumphantly, and Núria rolled her eyes.

Oghren was a very silent leader, occasionally muttering to himself. Núria half wished she had taken Alistair instead and relied on Bhelen’s map as well as Zevran to help her find Branka. She reminded herself firmly that this would have been very unreasonable. Zevran apparently felt her tension. This man could read her far too well. ‘Cheer up. We’ll find this Paragon, tell her to support Bhelen or else, and bring her back up. You’ll see, it will all be done in no time.’

‘Did you look at the map?’ Núria asked him.

‘Not after Bhelen marked where we should go. Is it so far in?’

‘Farther. And the fact that even though they seem to have some idea where Branka is they still cannot be bothered to find her should tell us something.’

‘That dwarves like to have others do the dirty work?’ Zevran asked.

She merely sighed and they kept walking in silence for what seemed to be endless hours. Then Oghren’s pace seemed to increase, and he led them more swiftly through the twisting and crossing caves and paths, until they stepped through a door and ended up in yet another long flagged underground road.

‘Caridin’s Cross!’ Oghren said cheerfully. ‘I can’t believe Bhelen actually tracked this place down. This used to be one of the biggest crossroads in the old empire. You could get anywhere from here. Including Ortan Thaig.’

‘That’s where we’re going?’ Núria asked, and Oghren grinned at her.

‘Aye. And I even know the way. Branka dug up some maps of the ancient empire. We just have to follow this path.’

Zevran returned to them after looking closely at the walls and the floor a few paces away from them. ‘Can you see any sign of her yet?’

‘Not a one,’ Oghren said, ‘but trust me, we will once we’re on the path to the old Ortan Thaig.’

In Caridin’s Cross they found two more bags with body parts of whatever creature had been ritually killed. They managed to get all the parts into one bag. Oghren looked slightly disapproving, but when he saw Wynne’s smile, he refrained from complaining. After another few hours, Oghren announced that it was getting late, and they found a small room where they could rest. Wynne placed a magical ward at the entrance so no one had to keep watch.

It took two more days to finally reach the Ortan Thaig. As far as Núria was concerned, they might as well have moved in a full circle; for her eyes everything was identical here. She had to rely on Oghren to know where he was going. When they stepped into the thaig they had apparently been looking for, Oghren’s eyes lit up. ‘By the tits of my ancestors, Ortan Thaig. I never thought I would see this place in the flesh. I can see Branka all over it. She always took chips from the walls at regular intervals when she was in a new tunnel – check their composition. If she was still here, though, she’d have sentries out by now.’

‘So what is it with this place exactly?’ Núria asked. Spending so much time underground made her queasy, and she hoped very much that Oghren would tell her something that indicated they could leave soon.

‘Caridin’s home thaig. Even stayed here when he could have had his own house. Guess he didn’t want to move his people to Bownammar.’

‘To … er … yes, I guess,’ Núria said, confused.

‘The City of the Dead,’ Oghren explained with a wry grin. ‘Caridin built it to honour the Legion of the Dead, but it was more like a sodding mausoleum. Of course, that was all before he built the Anvil. After that he was the city’s pet genius until he angered the king and fell into disfavour.’

Núria frowned at her surroundings, wondering if she even wanted to know what the Legion of the Dead might be and deciding that she didn’t. ‘This was a city?’

‘No, no, there was a thaig here.’ Núria wasn’t entirely sure what exactly a thaig was, but she reckoned asking would only add to her confusion. ‘Bownammar is north and west of here, but never mind that. The City of the Dead is known as the Dead Trenches since the darkspawn conquered it. Much of the Legion was destroyed when the fortress fell.’

‘Oh, well. So where is that Anvil, then?’

Oghren looked at her as though she was mad. ‘How should I know? Back then this was almost part of the main city. No one bothered marking where it was. It might have been moved or even destroyed. But trust me, if we find it, we also find Branka.’

A short way further on they found dead darkspawn. ‘This was either your Branka, or something else entirely,’ Zevran commented, turning the corpse around with his foot. It seemed to be oddly flabby. ‘An animal, perhaps?’ They saw a scuttling movement somewhere in the shadows, and continued with their weapons drawn.

The creatures that had killed the darkspawn were enormous spiders with mandibles as long as Núria’s lower arm. ‘What’s got into those?’ Oghren asked. They watched a number of spiders taking down an ogre. It took a while, but then the large creature fell, crushing a spider underneath it.

‘That is the taint,’ Núria said. She had never minded normal spiders very much, and she had seen things worse on their journey, but the knowledge what had turned normal animals into monsters was, to say the least, unpleasant. Especially when she thought that she was not so different. Not so obviously monstrous, but basically carrying the same curse that would eventually bring her down. ‘That is why I wanted none of you to come.’ Zevran blanched next to her. ‘You can go back, if you prefer.’

The Antivan shook his head slowly. ‘And leave you with these things? Not going to happen. Just promise me you will end my life if I become the elven equivalent to those.’

Núria swallowed and placed her hand on his elbow. ‘I’d rather not think of this, Zev.’

He touched her hand and squeezed it for a moment before he pointed his sword at the spiders. ‘They’re in our way, right?’ Without waiting for a command, he attacked. They soon realised that some of the spiders were poisonous. Zevran started collecting their venom into a small flask, whereas Wynne went through her herbs, looking for something that might be a counteragent. She settled on a pouch full of small velvety leaves which she subsequently to the belt of her robes.

Shortly after leaving the umpteenth corridor, Núria stopped dead in her tracks. There was someone hovering about corpses and chests in the next room, moving from here to there without producing a sound. Carefully, they stepped closer. It was a dwarf, sure enough, but when he saw them, he fled. They made to follow him and were led into what looked like a camp. The person standing there looked more pitiful than anyone they’d seen so far. He had a harried look about him, his eyes darting around madly, never resting on one place for longer than a second. ‘There’s nothing for you here,’ he said hastily. ‘It’s mine! I’ve claimed it!’ His head was tilted to the side, his right arm angled. He looked extremely crooked.

‘What … are you doing here?’ Núria asked, wondering how anyone could live in this place full of darkspawn and spiders.

‘You’ve come to take my claim! You surfacers are all alike: Thieving scoundrels. Well, I found it first.’

‘How do you live here?’

It was Oghren who answered. ‘Word has it you can only survive down here by eating the darkspawn dead.’

Núria suddenly felt cold. ‘Darkspawn blood is poisonous,’ she said, remembering Daveth. ‘Men have died from drinking it.’ Others hadn’t, though … But this person was not a Warden. So there must be something else to that ritual, as she had suspected.

‘It burns when it goes down, it burns,’ the dwarf said, face contorted from the bad memory. ‘It’s my claim, not yours!’

Núria tried to look and sound soothing. ‘We don’t want to take your claim.’

He looked marginally less wild. ‘You … you won’t take anything from Ruck? You won’t take his shiny worms? Or pretty rocks?’

‘Did you say your name is Ruck?’ Wynne asked, taking a step towards him.

‘Yes, Ruck’s my name,’ the dwarf told her. ‘I do not hear it much, so sometimes I like to speak it out loud. Ruck! Ruck! Ruck!’ The last time he positively shouted, and Núria bit her lower lip fighting the revulsion she felt.

‘Is your mother called Filda?’ Wynne asked gently. Núria admired her. The only emotion visible in her face was compassion. Oghren and Zevran both looked detached – the latter very pointedly so.

‘No no no no no! No Filda. No mother. No blanket and stew and pillow and soft words! Ruck doesn’t deserve good memories.’

‘How did you end up here of all places?’ Núria asked him.

‘She … she didn’t know, not what I did.’ Ruck’s eyes were darting around as though looking for an escape route. ‘I was very, very, very, very angry, and then someone was dead. They wanted to send Ruck to the mines. If I went to the mines, sh-she would know. So I came here instead.’ His voice dropped by a quint and his eyes stopped their wandering, resting on Núria. ‘Once you eat, once you takes in the darkness … you not miss the light so much. You know, do you not? Ruck sees, yes. He sees the darkness inside you.’

Núria swallowed hard, suddenly unable to breathe. She felt Zevran shift behind her. His hand rested on her arm in a very light touch, but it was tremendously comforting. ‘You must tell your mother you’re alive,’ Núria managed to say, pressing back into the touch ever so slightly, and the hand closed around her arm, a thumb stroking her through the leather of her armour.

‘No, no, no. She cannot … She remembers a little boy, with bright eyes and a hammer, and she cannot see this! Swear – promise – vow you won’t tell!’

‘It would be kinder to tell her he is dead,’ Wynne said softly. ‘No mother would like to hear this.’

‘Yes, that’s what Ruck is: dead,’ he said quickly. ‘Dead like bones that turn to dust when you touch them.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Núria said. She heard Oghren say something that this camp might have been Branka’s, but she didn’t listen. Her eyes fixed on Zevran and she regretted taking him here more than ever. His hand was still on her and he guided her back to the previous room. ‘Leliana said Ruck has been missing for years,’ he whispered to her, once again spot on about what was troubling her. ‘We’ve been here only a few days, and none of us ate darkspawn. We will be fine. I don’t feel strange at all.’

Núria nodded slowly. Her eyes fell on an altar in a corner of the room where they had first met Ruck. She approached slowly. ‘Oghren, place the body on this,’ she said warily, and the dwarf did as he was told.

‘Whoa!’ Zevran made, as they all were suddenly engulfed in smoke. Hastily, Núria took a few steps backwards, her arms stretched to her sides so she could guide her companions with her. Out of the darkness, a _thing_ emerged, tall as an ogre but more massive, reminding her of the abomination that had been Uldred.

No longer desiccated and cut to pieces, the creature that had been supposed to be destroyed stood before them, angry eyes glaring down at them, rage bubbling behind them, but yet it was restrained. ‘You have restored that which has been cut asunder and revealed my hiding place. Speak your intention. Seek you vengeance or reward?’

For a moment Núria was indeed tempted. Then she remembered what Wynne had said about such a thing wandering through Denerim. At any other time, she might have taken a reward, but the blight was enough without that beast on top of everything. ‘I only bargain with spirits on Tuesdays, so sorry.’ Núria said lightly. Oghren, who had readied his axe the moment he had seen the thing, ran towards it with an enraged shout. ‘Wynne, remember Uldred?’ Núria asked.

A wild smile spread on the mage’s face. ‘Good point!’ She closed her eyes for a moment and a fierce spell rushed towards the beast. ‘Too strong … Unbalance it if you can, I’ll do the rest.’

Núria and Zevran didn’t need telling twice. They ran behind the creature that slammed its fists at Oghren, who evaded and attacked bravely, and they managed to find a weaker place between the scales to sink in their weapons. The creature stumbled, and Núria shouted a warning to Wynne. She needn’t have bothered, for the mage had seen, her staff jabbing forwards and emitting the greenish wave of the spell that would knock the demon to the ground. Núria and Zevran jumped out of harm’s way while Oghren mounted the fallen beast to ram his sword straight into one of the thing’s eyes.

‘So what exactly was this?’ he asked then, looking unimpressed.

‘A beast from the Fade,’ Wynne told him.

Zevran kicked at the remains as if to make sure it was dead. ‘And what do we do now? Cut it again and wait for someone else to do the same thing we did?’

The mage gazed pensively at the fallen creature. ‘I assume the pieces were placed in the deep roads by someone too weak to kill it. It will be safe to leave it here. It will not return.’

Zevran laughed. ‘Ruck will be delighted. Food for quite a while.’

‘Can’t be worse than darkspawn,’ Núria muttered. ‘Perhaps we should refill our rations here.’ Wynne frowned at her and started walking away. The two elves exchanged a glance and laughed.

‘Look here!’ the mage’s voice rang from a short way on. ‘Branka left us her journal. “We found evidence that the Anvil of the Void was not built in the Ortan Thaig. We will go south, to the Dead Trenches. The Anvil is somewhere beyond. My soldiers tell me I am mad, that the Dead Trenches are crawling with darkspawn, that we will surely die before we find the Anvil … If we find it. I leave this here in case they’re right. If I die in the Trenches, perhaps someone can yet walk past my corpse and retrieve the Anvil. For if it remains lost, so do we all. If I have not returned and Oghren yet lives, tell him … No, what I have to say should be for his ears alone. This is my farewell.”’ Wynne looked at Oghren, who was beaming.

‘She was thinking of me! I knew she still cared! Old softie … Looks like the Dead Trenches is our next stop then. They say the darkspawn nest there. Whole herds of them. But if that’s where Branka went, that’s where I’m going.’

They made their rest where they were, assuming that if Ruck had survived so long in this place, it must be safe enough for them, too. It wasn’t far until the Dead Trenches, and for once, Núria noticed a change in her surroundings. The walls looked strangely soft, and a rotting stench clung to the air, making it hard to breathe. Finally they stood before a chasm, a bridge just visible off along the path. It was hard to reckon the distance in this gloom, but it would be a while before they got there. As if spellbound, they walked to the precipice, Zevran leaning over it so far that Núria’s heart almost stopped. A roar sounded and he stumbled backwards. From somewhere in the distance something huge approached on wings of darkness, landing on a pinnacle and breathing blue flames into the air. Núria felt naked, the presence of the archdemon dreaded to consume her. She tried desperately to shield her mind from it, but if it had noticed her, it couldn’t be bothered to even look at her. Instead, with another roar, it took to the air again, leaving them shaken but unscathed.

Still like in a trance, they walked to the bridge, where a few dwarves in sombre, dark grey armour were trying to cut a path through the darkspawn to reach the far end. Wordlessly, they helped. If it was true that during a blight there was more darkspawn on the surface than in the deep roads, Núria didn’t want to know what some parts of Ferelden must look like by now. Whenever the endless stream of monsters seemed to end, new ones came out of the huge door on the other side of the chasm. After what felt like hours, the door was slammed shut by something on the other side. Kardol, the leader of the dwarves on the bridge, told her that there was a path around the door and made it very clear that she would not find a living being beyond his phalanx.

If the parts of the deep roads they had walked before had been depressing, this was like walking through a haze of dread. Invisible things Núria had no name for attacked them, ambushed them wherever there was nowhere to evade, the corridors were shining in a red light with no visible source, and there was this … growth again, like in the Circle Tower, only more frequent and in this light more dreadful. With a disgusted look on his face, Zevran cut into one of the bulbs. A thick, foul smelling fluid squirted out of it, coating the small knife. Zevran let it clatter to the ground, where the substance oozed onto it. Shuddering, he turned away and left it where it was.

The darkspawn seemed to grow more powerful with every step they took. In one room there were walking corpses, and even those seemed more apt at fighting than the ones on the surface – luckily not as apt as revenants, though. The moment they stepped into the corridor leading out of said room, a soft voice spoke. Núria had been so surprised to hear talk down here that she didn’t even understand the words. She stared at Wynne. ‘What did you say?’

The mage shook her head. ‘That wasn’t I.’

‘There cannot be someone alive here, can there?’ Núria muttered.

‘That is after all what we’re all hoping for, no?’ Zevran said. ‘To find Branka. Alive. Perhaps these are her people.’ The thought spurred them all to greater speed. The voice continued speaking in a flat tone, guiding them towards it. They didn’t stop to listen. Finally they crashed through a room to find the source of the talk.

A dwarven woman was cowering on the floor, surrounded by growth, rocking herself to a nursery rhyme she seemed to repeat to herself incessantly. Núria didn’t want to listen, but it was impossible to shut her ears to the words spilling out of the woman’s mouth.

‘ _First day they come and catch everyone._

_Second day they beat us and eat some for meat._

_Third day the men are all gnawed on again._

_Fourth day we wait and fear for our fate._

_Fifth day they return and it’s another girl’s turn._

_Sixth day her screams we hear in our dreams._

_Seventh day she grew as in her mouth they spew._

_Eighth day we hated as she is violated._

_Ninth day she grins and devours her kin._

_Now she does feast as_ she’s _become the beast._ ’ Núria stepped up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, unable to listen to this one more time. ‘What is this? An elf? Exotic and impossible.’ Even through the fabric of her clothes Núria felt that the woman was feverish. Her face was pale but blackened in places. Even though Ruck had looked bad, it was nothing in comparison to her. ‘ _First day they come and catch everyone_ ,’ the woman began again.

Núria felt a cold shiver run down her spine. ‘What’s this chant?’

The woman turned away from her. ‘It’s what I’ve seen. What I will become. I force it into verse so it is fantasy, unreal. That’s the only place I can hide because they make me … they make me eat. And then … All I could do was wish Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared. But I had to watch. I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?’

Núria felt her heart up in her throat. She had no idea what the dwarven woman was talking about, but somehow it still scared the hell out of her. ‘What change? What are they doing?’

‘What they are allowed to do. What they think they must. And Branka … Her lover, and I couldn’t turn her. Forgive her … but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become.’

‘When did you last see her?’ Núria asked, pushing the terror away in the face of this woman who obviously had all the answers she needed. If she was willing – or able, for that matter – to give them to her.

‘No more than a few breaths, but longer than an aeon,’ the woman said barely audibly and probably not to Núria. ‘It was … long enough … Long enough to miss her … to love her again … to hate her more than ever. No … I swore I will not speak of it. La-la-la-la-la … I will not hear any more about Branka.’

Núria mad a grab for the shoulders of the woman, suppressing the urge to shake her to her senses. ‘What did she do? Tell me or stay here!’

The woman tore herself away from Núria, stepping into the growth, which ruptured and emptied the stinking fluid onto her feet. She didn’t seem to care. ‘No! Don’t leave me here! Don’t let them take me! I will not become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!’ With that, the woman ran from the room.

‘Well, all we can assume is that she will lead us to Branka,’ Núria said.

‘I am not sure if I want to be led there, really,’ Zevran said.

‘What she has become? What did she mean?’ Wynne muttered.

Núria huffed. ‘Mad, I assume. Like herself. Let’s go.’


	19. Lost And Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Chapter heading ... Um, yes. Technically it isn’t a quote, so I’ll leave it at that. I just couldn’t find a name for this thing and then this struck me, and when nothing better followed by the time I was done spellchecking ... er, well.))

Trying to follow the sound of the Hespith’s – as Oghren called the dwarven woman – footsteps, they ran through more corridors and into a large room. Ruins of a bridge were there and a chasm, and Núria had to admit to herself that she had no idea whatsoever where they were and how they should get back. Her eyes strained to see anything away in the gloom, and unsure though she was, she believed there was something solid to the darkness before her. She nudged Wynne and pointed. ‘Ogre,’ the mage whispered. ‘There’s another, but I don’t see it. It’s closer.’

Núria’s eyes darted to the niche to their left. ‘Do you think we can engage them separately?’

Wynne shrugged. ‘Oghren, you’re going to save my old bones if this goes wrong, yes?’

The dwarf grunted with a nod at her. Wynne moved to the precipice and walked a few paces along it. She gestured to Núria and the others to back away, and they did. The old woman lifted her staff, and a bluish wisp escaped its point, racing through the air and starting to dance before the creature’s eyes. It waved its huge arms, extinguishing the wisp, and looked for its source. Wynne fired another small spell at the ogre, and it found her, running towards her with thunderous steps. She waited, trying to lure it to the precipice, to the right and away from the other ogre, and for a moment it seemed to work. Then the running creature gave a huge shout, and heavy footfalls betrayed the second thing set into motion, too. Wynne tore herself from where she had been and ran to the others. Oghren clapped her on the shoulder and engaged the first ogre. ‘Good effort,’ he called at her.

‘Execution needs a little work, though,’ Zevran added with a laugh.

Núria watched for a moment before deciding that Oghren would not survive both ogres attacking him at once. Ignoring the voice in her head that told her this was insane, she yanked at Zevran’s arm and pulled him to the second giant. It was all about speed, she told herself, as long as the ogre didn’t get her, there was no danger, and it would be distracted from Oghren.

What happened then seemed to take place in the wink of an eye stretched into minutes. She danced out of the way of the ogre’s fist, stumbling for only a moment but managing to remain on her feet. The fist soared past her and grabbed Zevran instead. With a scream of hatred mixed with fear she started running towards it again. Then her legs froze, held in an almost comical position by some strange power, unable to run. Her feet rooted to the ground, she nearly fell, carried onwards by her momentum. In her desperation she flung both her weapons at the thing, the sword soaring clean past the ogre and landing uselessly a short stretch behind, the dagger somehow, miraculously, landing in the creature’s loins. At the same time a forceful spell hit it in the chest sending it flying, and it let go of Zevran, who crashed to the floor with a dull thud preceded by a soft cracking sound. Núria could use her legs again and darted past the fallen creature to her sword. She was back at its head before it had managed to get to its feet and sunk her blade into its skull with a force she had never known she possessed. Leaving both her weapons inside the ogre and without a look at Oghren she ran to Zevran. Wynne was at her side in an instant and leaned over him. He was face down on the floor, and Núria was shaking too much to turn him around. Wynne flopped him onto his back, and a pained groan escaped his lips. ‘Oh, thank the Maker,’ Núria whispered.

Zevran blinked. Blood ran into his eyes from a laceration on his forehead, but it took only a quick spell from Wynne to close it. His nose had also been bleeding, but the one spell had had enough power to stop that, too. His armour was torn in places and his face had grazed the floor. Dirt and small stones mingled with blood and angry raw wounds, but he was alive, and he was speaking although she couldn’t hear the words through her silent thanks to whatever force had saved him. Zevran tried to wave Wynne away and get to his feet, but the mage pressed him firmly to the floor and cut the armour of his right arm open where a dark stain was growing with considerable speed. Núria swallowed. One of the bones of his lower arm was broken and protruded from the torn flesh. He stared. ‘It didn’t feel _that_ bad.’

Wynne gave a grim smile. ‘That is normal.’ Without so much as a warning she grabbed his arm with two hands, and with one quick pull and twist she had readjusted the bone. Zevran inhaled sharply and went pale. Núria knew she would have screamed in his place. ‘People have been known not to notice limbs being cut off in shock,’ Wynne said conversationally. ‘I’ll ask again in a few hours. Although it seems you did feel this.’ She muttered a few spells before adding poultices and layers upon layers of strong bandages to the wound. Then she put his arm into a sling and informed him that he had better not try and use it if he wanted it to heal properly. Núria felt like hugging Zevran to her and crying, but instead she gave a small huff and pulled her weapons out of the ogre.

Oghren had walked up to Wynne. ‘So why did you stop her from helping?’

‘Because in my experience blind rage does not make you a better fighter,’ Wynne replied.

‘You?’ Núria breathed, understanding dawning on her face. ‘You …’ She swallowed. ‘He could have died!’

‘Listen …’ Zevran tried, but Núria shut him up with a harsh gesture.

‘I could have done something!’

Wynne merely shook her head, and her lack of defence only made Núria angrier. ‘Like what?’ Zevran asked loudly. ‘What precisely could you have done?’

‘In my experience, rage inspires you in battle,’ Oghren threw in, mocking Wynne’s tone.

Núria nodded wildly. ‘See? Why didn’t you let me?’

‘You’re not a warrior, Núria,’ Wynne said calmly. ‘You fight with your brain rather than your strength, and excuse me for saying so, your brain had shut down.’

Zevran sighed. ‘Could we please move on? Somehow I’d rather get out of here sooner than later.’

Núria nodded. She glanced at the door where the second ogre had stood. She walked towards it, breaking into a run halfway to it. Her foot caught on a stone and she fell to the ground with an angry yell.

Zevran walked up to her and knelt next to her. ‘Are you done now with acting like the madwoman you are?’ There was a small, if slightly pained smile on his lips. He offered her his good hand to help her stand up and gave a wry grin. ‘I’d rather you didn’t go and ram your head against that door. As Wynne said, you need it intact.’

The door didn’t open. Núria tried picking the lock, then Zevran made a short attempt with his left hand but gave up with a slightly desperate laugh after a moment. She attempted kicking it in but without really believing this would work. There was nothing to it, they had to find another way.

Instead, they detected a key made of bone, and it actually worked on the door. There was a long winding corridor behind it, and as they stepped into it, they heard Hespith’s voice again. ‘The men they kill; they’re merciful. But the women they want. They want to touch, to mould, to change until you are filled with them.’ Núria looked around, but she couldn’t see her, only the words sounded through the cavern. ‘They took Laryn. They made her eat the others … our friends. She tore off her husband’s face and drank his blood.’ Núria bit her lips, wondering if these were the words of a mad person or a report of the truth. ‘And while she ate, she grew. She swelled and turned grey and she smelled like them. They remade her in their image. Then she made more of them.’ The corridor made a sharp bend before them, and before they reached it, a single last word was uttered before all was silent. ‘Broodmother.’

Carefully and with an ominous feeling they walked on, Núria and Oghren at the front in the narrow corridor. It opened into an almost circular room whose the floor was soft and pulsating with growth with only a few solid stone slabs at its back. But this was not why they stumbled backwards into Wynne and Zevran. The reason for that was squatting on the left side of the room. Whatever it was, it was certainly female and might once have been human – or, Núria thought with a pang, a dwarf? If that was the case, it had grown considerably in height. The creature had five pairs of breasts, all of them floppy and wrinkled, and no legs. Instead, it had tentacles, some of them growing out of the creature’s body, others emerging from the ground blocking the exits behind them as well as before and lashing out at them.

‘Back there, solid ground!’ Wynne said sharply and pointed, and they all ran for a secure place.

For once, Núria was at a complete loss. ‘What are we doing?’

‘Fight, I’d say,’ Oghren said, ducking a tentacle that had emerged behind the edge of the stone. ‘First those,’ he added and cut the tentacle clean off with a swipe of his axe. ‘You and I go forwards then, Wynne watches out for us, and the elf watches out for Wynne. And if anything weird happens, you warn us.’ Núria refrained from asking how he figured this could get any weirder.

Wordlessly they started to fight. She had never believed Zevran would let himself be told to watch without helping. His teeth were clenched but he attacked with his left arm, not quite as gracefully as he would with his main hand, but still he was all professional. There was no sign he was in any pain at all, although he had to be. As much as Núria was aware that he had been trained to function exactly like that, she still admired him.

At least Wynne did as she had been told and remained out of harm’s way on her piece of rock. The broodmother, as Hespith had called this _thing_ , spat the same fluid at them that had gushed out of the growth Zevran had so unwisely cut. Apart from stinking it also burned on bare skin, and when Núria got some of it into her eyes, she feared for a moment she’d go blind. Plated hands pushed her away and to Wynne, and a spell from her stopped the pain.

Open wounds gaped all over the creature, blood oozed from them, not red but brownish as that of darkspawn, and still it fought. Every now and then new tentacles shot out from underneath them, knocking them off their feet and into the growth – which, however disgusting it might be, was at least squashy and a harmless thing to collide with. Once, the room was somehow suddenly full of darkspawn, and they all ran back to Wynne to shield her from them.

The bitter fight was tearing at Núria’s nerves, and not hers only. Oghren gave a shout of fury and climbed on top of the creature. A tentacle lashed out at him, but thanks to Zevran it never reached its goal. The broodmother began to squirm, trying to unseat him, but Oghren had clamped his legs around the thick neck of the monstrosity and swung his axe down upon its head, sinking it deep into the skull right between the eyes. The broodmother shuddered and stilled, and Oghren slid down to the ground. Wynne looked them all over and declared them fit to move on. ‘That’s where they come from,’ Hespith’s voice sounded behind and above them. She was standing on a platform overlooking the room, hugging herself and rocking as she had done when Núria had found her. Her eyes were not on them, nor on the fallen creature, but on an imaginary point somewhere beyond the ceiling. ‘That’s why they hate us … that’s why they need us. That’s why they take us … that’s why they feed us. But the true abomination is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed. Branka … my love … The stone has punished me, dream friend. I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal.’

They left Hespith where she was, following the path leading out of this lair, wondering in what state they would find Branka. Núria hoped desperately that she had not shared this fate, and for one insane moment she imagined presenting a broodmother as a Paragon to the Assembly.

Ϡ

Branka wasn’t a broodmother, but if Núria had given any thought to what she expected a Paragon to be like, this was certainly not it, either. She felt a pang of pity for both Oghren and Hespith for loving her despite her coldness. She had not only led her people to this place, she had also sacrificed them and approved of them being turned into broodmothers so she could use the darkspawn to get past traps to the Anvil of the Void.

Said traps were unpleasant, to say the least, but either the darkspawn taint had addled Branka’s brain, or Núria and her companions were just insanely bright. Well, Zevran knew everything about poisons, so perhaps it came naturally for him to find the sources of poisonous gas streaming into a room and blocking them. Oghren was a dwarf and therefore as good as made of stone, so facing golems maybe was just the thing for him to do. And Wynne was a mage and knew all sorts of things like funny names for models of the sky – and understood deadly machineries that somehow summoned spirits.

In the end it turned out Branka had got it right: The Anvil of the Void still existed and it lay just beyond these traps. But there was also a welcoming committee in form of a huge golem and a few smaller ones. ‘My name is Caridin,’ the largest one said in a rumbling, deep voice that sounded like the stone creature he was. ‘Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar. If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it.’

Núria was tired. So very tired. ‘So you want something. Everyone does.’ She was smelling of the broodmother’s spit and very aware of it. She had to force herself to listen and not just yell at him to hand the thing to Branka already if that made her support Bhelen.

‘I do,’ Caridin said. He was awfully calm. Probably he had no sense of smell, Núria thought, for otherwise he would hurry to get rid of the lot of them. ‘I lived to ensure that the Anvil was never used again. Now it never shall be. It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible. But I told no one the cost. No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere.’

‘Ten feet tall and invulnerable? I can think of worse fates.’

‘It was an option I could offer warriors who would volunteer to defend their homeland,’ Caridin said. ‘And some took it. But King Valtor became greedy. He began to force men … casteless and criminals … his political enemies … all of them were to be given to the Anvil. It took feeling the hammer’s blow myself to realise the height of my crimes.’

‘So you sealed it away?’ Núria asked. ‘Orzammar could use it.’ The image of an army of golems hurling stones at the archdemon appeared in her mind. _She_ could use it, in fact.

Apparently, however, Caridin disagreed. Well. A golem might have different priorities. ‘No! I entombed myself here to find a way to destroy the Anvil! It must not be used again.’

Branka chose this moment to enter and put her oar in. ‘No, the Anvil is mine!’ She stood before Caridin as though he wasn’t four times her height. She was fanatic and demented, so much was obvious. ‘No one will take it from me!’

Caridin ignored her, addressing Núria instead. ‘You! Please … help me destroy the Anvil. Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!’

‘I need it to bargain with Branka,’ Núria said. ‘I won’t make golems.’ Mainly because she had no idea how.

‘As long as the Anvil exists, it may be used to create slaves. And it _will_ be used. Why seek a more difficult path when another, easier path is available? Help me destroy it!’

‘Branka can use it to help me against the blight,’ Núria said, tired of hypocrisy.

‘No one should be given dominion over another’s soul,’ Wynne said softly. ‘If anyone should know that best, it is a golem. It is powerful, yes, but at far too high a price!’

‘If we seek to end all the suffering in the world this will become a very frustrating attempt indeed,’ Núria said.

Zevran laughed softly. ‘Truly … Peasants working the land are trapped, but we do not go about destroying farmland, do we? It just seems a waste to destroy the Anvil, given what it could do. Imagine how helpful it could be for our task at hand.’

‘Precisely, Zev. We need the Anvil, that’s my last word in this case.’

‘No!’ Caridin thundered. ‘I cannot allow you to do this! To me, golems! Defend the Anvil, whatever the cost!’ At first the thought of having to fight the golem scared Núria, but it didn’t seem half as bad as the broodmother. Still, when Caridin fell, she was more breathless than ever after the long journey down here.

Branka, who had somehow disappeared during the fight, approached Núria with a grin. ‘Here it is, the Anvil of the Void. So sweet, such power!’ She approached it, looking at it as fondly as though it were a person. ‘Perhaps I could use it now … a reward for defeating Caridin. You wanted a crown, no? Or have you set your sights higher than the petty kings of Orzammar?’

‘A Paragon’s crown,’ Núria said with an almost equally maniacal grin on her face. ‘The Assembly must accept that.’

Branka nodded. ‘Then stand aside, and I shall forge it for you. Take it to whomever you please.’

Núria and her small party moved into one of the rooms further back to spend the night. Oghren claimed it was night, that was, she had lost her sense of time the second day into Orzammar. They heard Branka working on the Anvil, but they were exhausted enough all the same. After too short a rest, they were awoken by the impatient woman. ‘There it is.’ She offered Núria the crown for the Assembly. ‘An ugly lump of hot metal to go over a couple of empty heads. Now leave. It will take me some time to fully realise the mysteries here.’

Núria smiled. ‘Good luck with your studies.’ To tell the truth, she was happy to leave Branka’s company.

‘Once Orzammar settles on its petty king, have him send for me. When next you lead your armies against the archdemon, they will be shielded by a tide of steel men.’

A small voice in Núria’s had told her she should feel guilty, but she had learned to ignore that voice by now. ‘You have my thanks.’

‘I hope this makes you happy, Branka,’ Oghren said. ‘I don’t think you understand what it cost to get you here.’

‘Oh, stuff a rag in it, Oghren,’ Branka said. ‘Move on! Find a few whores. Sodding stone, I never thought you’d be the pining type. Now begone.’

After stowing the crown safely in her pack, Núria followed Oghren back to where they had come from. The journey back would lead them on a clear path, but it would still take them a few days. Watching Oghren and listening to his ramblings, she decided that if Oghren was what qualified as pining for a dwarf, she never wanted to meet a surly one.


	20. A Grey Warden Calls

Leaving Orzammar, Núria had to admit to herself that she wasn’t entirely surprised by Bhelen’s decision to kill Harrowmont for having opposed him. Oghren had chosen to follow them against the blight. The spirits of the party were high on the way south to Redcliffe: They had their army, and in addition to that, they had golems. Leaving the Assembly chamber they had met the dwarf who had fought on the bridge in the Dead Trenches. Núria had managed to persuade him to help her surface-side with the rest of the dwarven army. Somehow, knowing of the support she had been promised, their task didn’t sound so much like miracle working any more. Was this how the fabled Grey Wardens of old had felt? When she had left Flemeth’s hut in the Korcari Wilds with only Alistair and Morrigan, it had all seemed so impossible.

Time seemed to rush past … They went to Redcliffe, only to leave almost at once for Denerim – on horses, for once, and with Arl Eamon’s household. Only Morrigan refused to ride with her nose turned up. She transformed into a wolf and trotted along next to the others, looking haughty even as an animal. Alistair, riding next to Núria, grinned. ‘Horses sense evil, I bet they wouldn’t allow her on their back.’ Zevran laughed softly, and Morrigan growled at them. The assassin was sporting a very prominent bruise that formed two circles around his eyes. It had developed a few days after his collision with the floor in the deep roads, and Wynne had eyed it with a very concerned look on her face. Now it was already yellowing at the edges, but Núria was still slightly worried. She had cornered the mage and prodded her with questions until she told her this kind of bruise indicated a skull fracture. The elderly woman had smiled at her and patted her shoulder with reassuring words that in all likelihood he would be fine, and that if he needed more help she would certainly be able to give it. Zevran’s arm, meanwhile, was still in a sling. He was slightly subdued, but Wynne promised by the time they reached Denerim he could remove it.

They had barely entered Arl Eamon’s estate in Denerim when Loghain demanded to meet them. If the arl was shocked, he didn’t let it on and bade him welcome. ‘Loghain, this is an honour,’ he greeted him, ignoring the people flanking him. ‘That the Regent would find time to greet me personally.’

‘How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates, while a blight claws at our land,’ Loghain replied, his tone fierce and challenging.

‘The blight is why I’m here. With Cailan dead, Ferelden must have a king to lead it against the darkspawn.’

‘Ferelden _has_ a strong leader: its queen. And I lead her armies.’

It would be so easy to kill Loghain right there, but Núria restrained herself. ‘I do not see a queen here.’

‘Ah, the Grey Warden recruit,’ Loghain scoffed. ‘I thought we might meet again. You have my sympathies on what happened to your order. It is unfortunate that they chose to turn against Ferelden.’

Núria managed a cold smile. ‘You may look down on me, but just wait who’ll be the one scorned when everyone of any importance knows you’re responsible for the king’s death.’

Loghain made a step towards her. ‘You should curb your tongue. This is my city and no safe place to speak treason. For anyone.’ The last words were directed at Eamon, who looked completely unperturbed. ‘There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. Some worry that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden.’

Eamon folded his arms. He was slightly shorter than Loghain, and even though there was no outward anger on his face, his cold, hard look made him appear more dangerous than the younger man. ‘Illness? Why not call your poison by its true name? Not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you and these sycophants.’ He frowned at the man and woman standing beside Loghain.

‘How long you’ve been gone from court, Eamon,’ Loghain said. ‘Don’t you recognise Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine and Teyrn of Highever?’

‘ _And_ current Arl of Denerim, after Urien’s unfortunate fate at Ostagar,’ the man in question added. He had a nose like a vulture’s beak and a nasal, arrogant sounding voice. Núria found he was no less disgusting than his predecessor and his offspring had been. ‘The regent has been generous to those who proved … loyal.’

‘Enjoy your moment while it lasts,’ Núria suggested.

‘Don’t interrupt, churl,’ the black haired, armed woman said. ‘Your betters are talking.’

‘Enough, Cauthrien,’ Loghain said. ‘This is not the time or place. I had hoped to talk you down from this harsh course, Eamon. Our people are frightened: Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne.’

‘If Ferelden meant anything to you, you’d stand with us!’ Núria said.

‘I should put my faith in untried foreign hands?’ Loghain asked. ‘Do you think I’m blind? Cailan depended on the Grey Wardens’ prowess against the darkspawn, and look how well that ended. Let us speak of reality, rather than tales. Stories will not save us.’

Eamon shook his head with a frown. ‘I cannot forgive what you’ve done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this blight.’

‘Oh, is that all I have to do?’ Alistair asked. ‘No pressure …’ Núria grinned at him.

‘The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down,’ Loghain snarled at Eamon. ‘Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland.’ With that, he turned and stormed out of the room.

Eamon sighed. ‘Well, that was … bracing. I didn’t expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon.’

‘Why is he doing this?’ Núria asked, still shocked at the obsession that seemed to have Loghain in its grip.

‘Maker knows. Perhaps he has gone mad. I would have imagined pigs would fly before Loghain Mac Tir would turn against our king. So, before the Landsmeet starts, we need eyes and ears in the city. Loghain has been here for months. The roots of all his schemes must begin here. The sooner we find them, the better we can turn them to our advantage. Go have a look around and see what you can turn up. Better yet, find the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet. Test the waters, see how many will support us. When you’re ready to talk strategy, come upstairs to my sitting room. We can lay out our plans for the Landsmeet then.’

Núria and the others decided to spread into Denerim under the pretext of fulfilling Arl Eamon’s request, but also so they could indulge in whatever they considered a pleasant activity after the long time on the road. She knew for certain that this would lead Oghren into the next alehouse. She tried desperately not to think of where it would lead Zevran.

Leliana and Alistair intercepted her at the exit, and she smiled. ‘You want me to go with you to your … um, visits?’ she assumed.

‘If you don’t mind,’ Alistair said with a small grin. ‘I just don’t know what she’ll say, and I’d really rather not go alone.’

‘Oh, this I _have_ to see.’ Morrigan stepped up behind them. Alistair looked pained. ‘There’s a she in your life? Who would have thought ‘tis possible?’

‘She’s his sister,’ Leliana said in Alistair’s defence.

‘You’re with us too?’ the mage asked. ‘I know who she is. And I assume we will also seek out your Marjolaine?’

Leliana stared. ‘How do you … Does everyone know?’

Morrigan smiled at her. ‘Magical wards around our camp to warn us about anything unusual, remember? And no, I was not intentionally eavesdropping, but you chose to talk when no one else was, so I heard you quite clearly. I would have heard an unwanted visitor just as accurately, were they close enough.’ Núria’s face went crimson. If Morrigan had heard a conversation in soft voices, she would certainly have heard her and Zevran. Often. Morrigan laughed at the look on her face. ‘Don’t ask, you wouldn’t like the answer. But I do not mind that much, your Antivan has a pleasant voice. As long as I don’t have to put up with his sneer … I don’t know how you do it, really.’

Núria was way too relieved that Morrigan did not elaborate to reply to that. First, she decided to visit Marjolaine. She was rather glad Morrigan had decided to come with them, for she doubted very much if the woman would give them a warm welcome, and even if the apostate was nothing like Wynne, she knew healing spells and used them if she had to. Indeed, they were attacked as soon as they had crossed the threshold. Wiping blood from her lip, Núria threw the door to the next room open and stepped through, weapons in hand. Leliana followed directly behind her.

The woman they found waiting was dressed as a lady and wore such a haughty expression that Núria would have liked to bash her face in with some blunt but heavy object. She had seen that look on humans often enough in the alienage to make her sick. As it was, the woman didn’t even glance at her twice. ‘Leliana!’ she exclaimed in a friendly tone that screamed of falsehood. ‘So lovely to see you again, my dear …’

‘Spare me the pleasantries,’ Leliana said. ‘I know you’re –’

‘Oh, you must excuse the shabby accommodations. I try to be a good host, but you see what I have to work with? This country smells of wet dog. Everywhere. I cannot get the smell out. Even now it is in my hair, my clothes … Ugh.’

Núria had heard similar comments from Zevran, but he said them with a grin and a tone that made it clear he was merely baiting her. But this woman was so arrogant it was a wonder her head had not swollen to three times its size. ‘We killed your guards.’ Núria pointed a bloody dagger to the first room with a flourish, deliberately spraying fine drops on the floor. It filled her with a wild satisfaction, and Leliana seemed to bite down a grin, too.

‘Qunari mercenaries,’ Marjolaine replied in an equally conversational tone. ‘Expendable. And this way I don’t have to pay them. Good for the both of us. But I am not unarmed, or unguarded. I have more men watching, ready to attack on my word, so perhaps we just talk now, yes?’

‘You framed me, had me caught and tortured,’ Leliana flared up. ‘I thought that in Ferelden, I would be free of you, but it seems I am not. What happened to make you hate me so? Why do you want me dead so badly?’

‘Dead? Nonsense. I know you, my Leliana. I know what you’re capable of. Four, five men … you can dispatch easily. They were sent to give you cause to come to me. And see? Here you are.’

‘I think I don’t hear right,’ Núria said. ‘Why send a letter when you can send men, knowing they’re going to end up dead. Who’d mind, really?’

Leliana laughed softly and humourlessly. ‘Ignore what she says. She’s lying. I know how she works. What are you up to, Marjolaine? Why are you in Ferelden?’

Marjolaine cocked an eyebrow. ‘In truth? You have knowledge that you can use against me. For my own safety, I cannot let you be.’ She took a step closer to Leliana, wearing a pout. ‘Did you think I did not know where you were? Did you think I would not watch my Leliana? “What is she up to?” I thought. “The quiet life, the peasant clothes, hair ragged and messy like a boy’s … This is not her. You were planning something, I told myself. So I watched … but no letters were sent. No messages. You barely spoke to anyone. Clever, Leliana, very clever. You almost had me fooled. But then you left the Chantry, so suddenly. What conclusion should I draw? You tell me.’

Leliana looked at her, obviously amazed. ‘You think I left because of you? You think I still have some plan for … for revenge? You are insane. Paranoid!’

‘How full of oneself can a person get?’ Núria muttered.

‘Oh, is that what you think?’ Marjolaine asked, looking at her with a pitiful smile. ‘If I were you I would believe nothing she said. Not a one. She will use you. You look at her and see a simple girl – a friend, trusting and warm. It is an act.’

‘I am not you,’ Leliana said emphatically. ‘I left because I didn’t want to become you.’

‘Oh, but you are me. You were such a master manipulator because you enjoyed the game; you revelled in the power it gave you. You cannot change or deny this.’

‘Nothing _you_ have to say will stop me trusting Leliana,’ Núria said, feeling she had to make that very clear to the bard after her desperate claim she was nothing like Marjolaine.

‘Thank you,’ she said softly before she rounded on Marjolaine again. ‘You will not threaten me or my friends again. I want you out of my life, forever.’

‘Do you really believe she’ll leave you alone?’ Núria asked her. ‘Ever?’

Leliana sized her up for a moment. ‘No. It has to end here.’ The ensuing fight was bitter, especially when four guards with two mages among them joined the fray, but finally they left Marjolaine’s house.

‘Let’s hope your Goldanna will give us a better welcome,’ Núria said to Alistair, who went slightly pale.

‘That’s her house over there,’ he said, pointing.

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t want to see her alone?’

Alistair shook his head firmly. ‘Do I seem a little nervous? I am. I really don’t know what to expect. I’d like you to be there with me if you’re willing. Or we could … leave, I suppose. We really don’t have time to pay a visit, do we? Maybe we should go.’ He said all this very fast.

‘Move on in,’ Núria replied with a grin. ‘Stop talking, keep some for her, right?’ When Alistair made no move, she knocked and stepped in before him at a call.

‘Er … hello?’ Alistair called.

A woman emerged from another room. She was barely taller than Núria and wore a simple but clean linen dress. ‘You have linens to wash? I charge three bits on the bundle, you won’t find better. And don’t trust what that Natalia woman tells you, either, she’s foreign, and she’ll rob you blind.’ Núria stared at her. The way she talked resembled how Alistair had just spoken before they had entered. She couldn’t help grinning. She nudged him lightly in the ribs to stop him gaping at her.

‘I’m … not here to have my wash done,’ he said at last. ‘My name’s Alistair. I’m … well, this may sound sort of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I suppose I’m your brother.’

‘My what?’ the woman asked, looking thunderstruck. ‘I am Goldanna, yes … How do you know my name? What kind of tomfoolery are you folk up to?’

‘He’s telling the truth,’ Núria helped out. ‘Listen to him.’

‘Look … our mother worked as a servant in Redcliffe Castle,’ he explained. ‘Do you know about that? She –’

Goldanna certainly didn’t look happy. ‘You! I knew it! They told me you was dead! They told me the babe was dead along with mother, but I knew they was lying! Paid me to shut me up!’

‘I’m sorry. I … didn’t know that. The babe didn’t die. I’m him. I’m … your brother.’

Núria saw that it was no good before she heard the answer. ‘Oh, and how wonderful that is,’ Goldanna said. ‘You killed mother, you did, and I’ve had to scrape by all this time! That coin didn’t last long, and when I went back, they ran me off.’

‘So how’s that Alistair’s fault, exactly?’ Núria asked.

‘And who in the Maker’s name are you?’ Goldanna fired at her. ‘Some elf to follow him about and carry his riches for him?’

Alistair replied faster even than Núria. ‘Hey, don’t speak to her that way. She’s my friend, and a Grey Warden! Just like me!’

Goldanna’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oooh, I see. A prince, and a Grey Warden, too. Well, who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me? I don’t know you, boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing. They tricked me good. I should have told everyone. I got five mouths to feed, and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you.’ The contempt in her voice hurt Alistair, so much was clear.

Not really believing it would do any good, Núria tried to salvage the situation. ‘Goldanna, Alistair was hoping to find his family here.’

‘Well, he found it. And what good is that to me? None, that’s what, unless he can see to it that his family lives as it should.’

Alistair rummaged in his things and produced a bag of money. ‘Here. Take this, I know it’s not much, but –’

‘You, a prince, marching in here with your fancy armour and such, and this is all you got to offer? You must think I’m very stupid.’

‘No, wait. I don’t think that at all! I want to help, if I can.’

‘You want to help? You go to whatever high-and-mighty folks you run with, and you tell them you’ve got nephews and nieces that aren’t living as they’ve a right to. You do that!’

‘Perhaps we should … go,’ Núria offered, and Alistair nodded slowly.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why I came.’ Núria could have told him, she remembered what he had seen in the Fade very vividly.

‘I don’t know why you came, either, or what you expected to find,’ Goldanna spat at him. ‘But it isn’t here. Now get out of my house, both of you!’

Alistair stood still, and Núria took him by the arm. ‘Let’s leave. Now.’

With a nod, Alistair spun around and stepped out of the house. He looked so hurt and disappointed that even Morrigan kept her mouth shut for once, although she did roll her eyes at Núria. ‘Was I stupid to believe she’d accept me? Isn’t that what family is supposed to do? I … I feel like a complete idiot.’

Núria sighed. ‘Everyone is out for themselves. You should learn that.’

‘You’re right, I should. Let’s go. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’

Both Alistair and Leliana headed back to Eamon’s estate in a rather subdued manner. Morrigan disappeared somewhere in an alley, and Núria decided to have a look around the market. She bought some fresh fruits and a loaf of bread there, preparing herself for a quiet evening alone. She heard the soft high whistles of nugs, small, pig-like creatures that lived in Orzammar and were the most common fare there. She approached the cage with a small smile, wondering if she should bring Oghren one – in case he returned in any state fit to understand the joke.

‘You have a taste for nugs?’ a voice thick with a very familiar accent asked her. ‘They’re really fine, not like the starved ones littering Orzammar.’ To his credit, Núria had to admit he told the truth. They were well-fed, to say the least.

She smiled at the merchant. ‘Are nugs all you have? I wouldn’t have assumed they sell all that well up here.’

‘On, no no no,’ he said with a grin. ‘My cousin Cesar here and and I have trade connections all over the seaways. We have furniture, silks, carvings, and much more. I am Ignacio, by the way. Cesar handles the trade stock. I handle other affairs.’

‘You aren’t from Ferelden, are you?’

‘No, I am not. I am a trader at heart. My home is the road. But I was born past the Waking Sea in Antiva.’ Núria’s smile widened. She had thought so. ‘It has been many, many years since I have seen her. But the road … is a better mistress than my home city ever was.’

Núria raised her eyebrows. ‘How so?’

‘On the docks of Rialto, life is cheap. As cheap as the dockside ale and the soiled whores. You can live a longer life out here, and a wise man can make a comfortable fortune in time.’

Núria gave him a crooked grin. She could have given him quite a few reasons why Ferelden was not a good place to be momentarily. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

Ignacio considered her. ‘Hmm … No, not yet. Perhaps one day.’

Núria shrugged. ‘Oh, well. Good day to you, Ignacio.’

The merchant bowed to her. ‘Luck be to you, Warden.’

Núria almost halted in her steps. Had he just called her Warden? How could he know? Torn between the urge to turn around and ask him and wanting to run, she nearly stepped into a boy near Eamon’s estate. ‘Sorry.’

‘Message for you, m’lady,’ he said, handing her a note.

‘Wha–’ she made, but the boy hurried off.

‘More things to deliver,’ he called back to her. ‘Good bye.’

Amazed, she unfolded the small piece of paper.

_If you are interested in working with the Antivan Crows, head to the Gnawed Noble’s, back room._

Núria turned and glanced back at the stalls but couldn’t see Ignacio. She told herself that this was only because she was too far away already and stepped hastily – because of the beginning rain, of course – back into Eamon’s estate. Relief washed through her when the door slammed shut, and she set off to the common room, trying not to feel too much like a coward. The note was held firmly in her fist, her other hand was crushing the handle of the wicker basket with the fruits.


	21. So Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Another song, Evanescence this time.))

Very much to her surprise, the common room was almost empty despite the early hour. Only one person was sitting by the fire, staring into the flames. ‘Zev?’ she prompted, and he jumped to his feet in alarm. ‘Not quite your attentive self today, are you?’ she teased as she approached.

‘I tried practising,’ he said. ‘I’m now successfully better with my left arm than my right, and that’s not because it has improved so much.’

‘You didn’t move your arm in a while, you’ll be good. Look, I brought fruit. I thought you’d be in the Pearl, to be honest.’

Zevran grinned. ‘I tried the Wonders of Thedas. I always thought it must be a whorehouse, but there are only those scary insipid mages in there, so I fled and decided one failed attempt was enough per day.’ He glanced at Núria’s basked and took a ripe apple.

‘Insipid mages, Zev?’ Núria echoed with a small smile.

Zevran chuckled. ‘Oghren calls them that. Tranquil, then.’ Núria managed a laugh, but it sounded slightly hysterical. Zevran frowned at her. ‘You look like you saw a ghost. What happened out there? Did Morrigan do something?’

Núria blinked. ‘So obvious? Not Morrigan.’ She held the note out to Zevran.

He looked from the words on the paper to her face. ‘So what will you do?’

‘What should I do, you tell me,’ Núria said more sharply than she had intended.

Zevran sighed. He sat down again and motioned to her to do the same. ‘If I were you,’ he said, pulling her close to him, ‘I would go and see them. Wait what they have to say, and kill them if you don’t like it. I do however think it might be good if you let me come too.’

‘I’m not sure if that’s such a brilliant idea. They want you dead, remember?’

Zevran gave a soft huff. ‘Trust me, my lovely Warden, it won’t make a difference. They know who you are, and they knew who you’re travelling with from the moment you set foot into Denerim. There is a whole gang of them here, led by one Master Ignacio. I bet anything you talked to one of his people without knowing it.’ Núria burst into maniacal laughter. For a few seconds Zevran merely stared at her, looking mildly worried. ‘If you’re done, would you tell me what exactly is so amusing?’

‘Oh, Zev, you’re mistaken,’ she managed, wiping tears from her face. ‘He talked to me in person, your Ignacio.’

Zevran nodded slowly. ‘Well, even more so, we should talk to him. No, don’t you try and leave me somewhere behind, not in this case. I told you I could warn you if they should try anything, but for that you must take me to him.’ For a moment he glanced at his apple. ‘If I think they’re leading you into a trap, I’ll let you know, _mi amora_.’ He blinked, taken aback by his own words. He continued hastily. ‘If not, you can work for him. It wouldn’t be so unusual that someone works for the Crows even if they don’t belong to them. You might even get paid decently.’

Núria wondered for a moment if she should ask what he had called her, but then she decided against it. He had called her a number of things, ever since the Brecilian Forest it was mostly some variety of ‘Warden’. As far as she was concerned, this might have been the Antivan word for it. ‘Very well. We’ll go there tomorrow. I would also like to see the alienage, but the gate was closed. I doubt if we can go there at the moment.’

Zevran took her hand. ‘If the gates are locked to you, my beautiful woman, we will find another way in,’ he said gently and placed a tender kiss on her lips.

Ϡ

The next morning Núria and Zevran set out early to meet Ignacio. Wynne and Alistair would meet up with them later. The mage had asked if they could look for the man called Vilhm Madon, and when Núria had agreed, she had asked Alistair to help her find the exact place. They would meet back at the market to pay him a visit together.

Núria felt certainly apprehensive as she stepped through the door to where Ignacio would be waiting. Zevran’s presence did a lot to comfort her, though. ‘You here about a note?’ Ignacio asked as soon as the door had closed behind them. ‘Maybe we have things we can talk about.’

Zevran crossed his arms and stepped next to Núria, half a step before her. ‘Just see that the conversation stays civil. If this is a trap …’

Ignacio eyed Zevran with an almost disgusted look. ‘Zevran, is it? You are Taliesen’s responsibility. Other Crows may try to kill you, but in my eyes, you’re already dead. So you are of no notice. But the Warden here, she’s of great interest to me.’

Núria suppressed her anger at the way this man talked to Zevran. He had warned her before they had entered the tavern that Ignacio might not be very friendly with him, and that she should try to understand that in his eyes, he was a traitor. ‘You were hired to kill me,’ she said.

Ignacio shook his head. ‘I can’t stress enough that I wasn’t hired to do anything. An associate was, and he has failed – and failed badly.’

‘I’d like to see you do any better,’ Zevran muttered.

‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Ignacio asked. ‘That’s a contract I’d never take.’ He cleared his throat. ‘A client can always hire more … help. If the job isn’t done the first time. But I’m hoping we can make sure that doesn’t happen.’

‘Is that true, Zev?’ Núria asked.

‘I’ve only heard of the one time the entire House of Crows was hired for a job. A princely sum changed hands, and an entire noble family died. Not one soul survived. Ignacio has the right of it. Generally, it is one master, one job.’

Núria nodded. ‘Very well then, I’m listening.’

‘Ferelden is a busy place,’ he began and started walking up and down the small room. ‘Blight, civil war, other mayhem. Lots of people not getting along. Sometimes, they _really_ don’t get along. Maybe want to do something about it. The people that handle that sort of thing can get real busy.’

Núria looked at him in amazement, wondering at what the slightly defeated looking merchant had become. ‘So you’re hiring help?’

‘You could say that.’ Ignacio stopped his pacing and looked at her firmly. ‘Not many people we can turn to. So someone that’s crossed our path and lived … well, maybe they could help out. Make some coin. Everyone wins.’

‘How does this work, then?’

Ignacio smiled. ‘I hand you a scroll. You read it, you learn about someone interesting. If you find out something happens to him, something unfortunate, then if we talk again, I give you money for … letting me know. You don’t like what’s on the scroll, don’t do anything. Maybe he has an accident and someone else tells me about it.’

‘Money, right?’ Núria asked. ‘What about no more Crows coming after me?’

‘That I cannot do. One master has a contract on you. But if you help us out, maybe if that master asks for help he’ll just get silence, yes?’

Núria nodded. ‘Good enough for me. Hand me the scroll then.’

Ignacio produced it from a chest behind him and handed it to her with a flourish. ‘There you go. Makes for fine reading.’

‘You’re a cautious little weasel, Ignacio,’ Zevran said with a slight frown. ‘What’s your angle? If you’re playing us false …’

‘My dance is not for you,’ Ignacio told him disdainfully. ‘I need to be real … honest sometimes. And I can say I haven’t asked anyone to do _anything_. I’ve just given someone something interesting to read.’

‘And you think that will save your hide when they nail it to a wall?’

‘You’re already dead in my eyes, whoreson. Take care I don’t learn otherwise.’ He turned to Núria. ‘If that’s all, luck be to you.’

Before she could yell at him for the way he had spoken to Zevran she felt herself being steered out. ‘Never kill an employer before he has paid you, my Grey Warden,’ Zevran whispered in her ear.

The scroll said that a man called Paedan was to be found in the Pearl. A copy of a poster had gone with the scroll, saying something about friends of the Grey Wardens and that the griffons would rise again. They met Alistair and Wynne near the market and informed them of where they were heading. Alistair told them that in that case Vilhm Madon seemed to be on their way. He led them through small alleys to a locked door. Wynne glanced at a point further on in the alley.

‘He still there?’ Alistair asked softly.

Wynne shrugged. ‘I cannot see from here, but I think so.

Núria frowned. ‘Who’s where?’

Alistair scowled at where the path went around a corner and up a few stairs. ‘No idea. Some man, standing there like a statue and glaring at passers-by. Never said a word, just stood there. I say, don’t mind him, maybe he got his hands on some lyrium somehow and fried his brain with it.’

Wynne knocked the door firmly. No one answered, but there was clearly light inside. ‘I’m here for Gaxkang, and I am not going to leave.’ The door unlocked.

Núria stepped through first. ‘Grey Warden, isn’t it?’ a man in a mage’s robe greeted them. ‘Strange you would force such a visit in a time of Blight. I suppose I’m used to inspiring a different kind of seeker.’

‘Your stories attract them, and then they disappear,’ Wynne said angrily.

The man chuckled. He eyed Núria with an almost greedy expression. ‘The adequate ones find the beacons, and then _I_ find _them_. But you … you’re already brighter than the signal at Ishal. Eyes are on you from a very high vantage, Grey Warden. I cannot hide in your wake, but I will not be a footnote! Witness Gaxkang!’

Before their very eyes, the man drifted into the air a few inches and dissolved. ‘Not such a thing again,’ Núria said in slight desperation. Alistair launched himself at the undead mage, and Núria hurried to get behind him. She waited for a few moments, letting Alistair get his full attention. She really didn’t want to have that glare on her.

‘So the lesson of today is that knocking a door can be just as dangerous as kicking a tombstone,’ Zevran quipped.

Wynne was firing spells at the horror, keeping an eye out for Alistair at the same time. ‘Alistair, hold out for a moment,’ the mage said and closed her eyes in concentration. A moment later, the Horror sank to the floor, suddenly more solid.

‘What did you turn him into a revenant for?’ Alistair asked loudly.

‘I didn’t,’ Wynne said, looking confused.

‘No matter, at least I feel I’m hitting something,’ Zevran shouted at her over Alistair and Gaxkang’s fighting noise. With a yell, he started hacking at the thing, his movements almost too fast to follow. It was too good an effort. The revenant rounded on him, and he backed into a wall. ‘Whoa, let’s not get out of hand here!’ He ducked a blow from the creature before ramming his sword into its side under its arm. Alistair swung his sword down onto the revenant’s head at the same moment, and it fell to the floor. Zevran wiped blood from his weapon and glanced at Wynne. ‘You should work on that. If you could transform our enemies into sheep or something similar it might help. Please do not turn every small Genlock into a revenant if you can help it, though.’

Wynne glared at him. ‘I didn’t transform him.’ She left the house with a disgusted backwards glance. ‘I only tried to stop him from casting spells. Apparently he needed energy to uphold the form of the horror so I forced him to transform.’

‘ _Could_ you transform people into things?’ Núria asked. ‘They say that … “If you’re not good and eat your soup, a mage will come and transform you into a toad.” Or something similar … Oi, who’re you, up there?’ A man had indeed been sitting on top of the stairs and jumped to his feet when he saw them, his hand on the hilt of his sword. She saw Zevran almost trip over his own feet as he spotted him and got worried.

The man on the stairs grinned down at her. ‘And here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last. The Crows send their greetings, once again.’ Núria stiffened and glanced at Zevran to ask him if he believed that Ignacio had sent the man.

But Zevran wasn’t looking at her. His eyes rested on the man above them and there was a hard look on his face she had only seen at their first encounter, when he had gestured to his accomplices to attack. ‘So they sent you, Taliesen.’ Núria searched her head for information she had about him … He had been the one with whom Zevran had worked … the man he had told to kill Rinna. Well, it explained why he looked so outright dangerous. ‘Or did you volunteer for the job?’

The man laughed. ‘I volunteered, of course. When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself.’ His voice was taunting, and Núria started to hate this impertinent person.

‘Is that so?’ Zevran asked. He continued with a slight frown. ‘Well here I am, in the flesh.’

Taliesen made one step down. ‘You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this, and I don’t blame you. It’s not too late. Come back and we’ll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake.’

Núria watched Zevran’s face, bracing herself for his training kicking in. His features were cold and set, eyes fixed on Taliesen. Fear gripped at her. Would she even be able to hurt him if he turned on her now, or would she allow him to slaughter her like a lamb, or die at his feet, begging, like Rinna? ‘Of course I’d need to be dead, first,’ she said, her voice loud enough to carry to Taliesen, but with a slight quaver it didn’t normally possess.

Zevran blinked and looked at her as he drew his weapons. His glance turned back to Taliesen, who was wearing a triumphant grin. ‘And I’m not about to let that happen,’ Zevran said calmly.

Núria was so relieved she felt dizzy. At the same time she was angry at herself for believing even for the fraction of a second that Zevran would attack her.

Taliesen’s grin, meanwhile, had died on his face. ‘What? You’ve gone soft!’

Anger flared in Zevran’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry my old friend. But the answer is no. I’m not coming back … and you should have stayed in Antiva.’

At a shout from Taliesen, more assassins left their hiding places in the alley, and Núria did her best to dispatch them with Alistair. Zevran had run up the stairs to face Taliesen himself, and they were locked in a deadly duel. It was all Núria could do not to enter the fray, but she realised she would not have been able to tell who she hit. She had never seen two people fight more bitterly, nor faster. They were a blur of weapons, she couldn’t tell if one of them had landed a blow at all, as they were both extremely quick. Then a gasp of pain came, and her heart clenched for a horrible moment, before she watched Taliesen fall to the floor, blood gushing from his side. Zevran jumped after him and cut his throat in one quick motion.

When he came down the stairs, he looked like a god of war. His armour was stained in blood, his hair was dishevelled, and his breath ragged. He sheathed his sword with one fluid motion and stood before Núria, the hard, angry look on his face slowly melting into a tired smile. ‘And there it is. Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows. They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen. So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out.’

‘That’s a good thing, right?’ Núria asked.

Zevran grinned. ‘A very good thing. It is, in fact, what I had hoped for ever since you decided not to kill me. I suppose it would be possible for me to leave, now, if I wished. I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me.’ _And nor would I_ , Núria thought, her heart beating somewhere in her throat. ‘I think, however, that I could also stay here. I made an oath to help you, after all. And saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?’

Núria swallowed. She was certainly not going to hold him to the oath, no matter how intriguing the idea was. ‘If you want to leave, you should.’

‘But that is what I am asking you. Do you want me to go? Do you need me here?’

 _Maker, yes, I do need you, you_ can’t _leave!_ ‘I hereby release you from your oath,’ she said softly. ‘Do … what you choose, Zev. You’re a free man.’ She managed a slightly watery smile, and saw that he stood stock still, looking somewhere between confused and overwhelmed.

‘I … am not sure how to respond to that. Nobody has ever … I mean, normally these things are decided by others.’ He blinked twice, then fixed his gaze on her with such an intent look that she felt the ground falling away under her feet. ‘Er … then I suppose I shall … stay? Is that … good?’

Núria beamed at him. ‘If that is what you want, this is not only good, it’s glorious.’

Zevran smiled back at her before he rummaged in his things and produced something that had to be small, since it was hidden in his hand. ‘Here.’ He held a small earring out to her. It was made of red gold, unless she was very much mistaken, and graced by a violet jewel. ‘It seems an appropriate moment to give you this.’

‘Oh? Will that mean we’re married in Antiva?’

Zevran threw his head back and laughed. ‘Let’s hope hot! I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows. A Rivaini merchant prince, and he was wearing a single, jewelled earring when I killed him. In fact, that was about all he was wearing.’ Núria grinned. ‘I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I’ve kept it since … and I’d like you to have it.’

Núria stared at the offering. ‘I … Oh, wow, who would have thought that.’

‘Don’t get the wrong idea about it. You killed Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him. That means I’m free, at least for now. Feel free to sell it, or wear it … or whatever you’d like. It’s really the least I could give you in return.’

‘Technically, _you_ killed Taliesen,’ Núria said slowly, her eyes still resting on the small metal item. She had never possessed any jewellery that was worth half so much. It would be very easy to just take it and make him grin at her and continue. Wynne and Alistair were talking about something insignificant away from them, and she supposed the mage had led him away from them on purpose. Zevran raised his eyebrows, and she looked up at his face. ‘So … not a token of affection, then?’

Zevran closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I … look, just … just take it. It’s meant a lot to me, but so have … so has what you’ve done. Please take it.’

Núria frowned. If he believed she had not realised what had almost come out of his mouth, he was sorely mistaken. She reached for his hand, but only to close his fingers around the earring. ‘I will take it, but only if it means something.’

A glint of impatience entered Zevran’s face, and she felt an immense wave of satisfaction paired with regret. He jerked his hand back from her. ‘You are a very frustrating woman to deal with, do you know that?’

She tried at an easy smile, hoping to save this conversation before it crashed to the flagged street beneath their feet. ‘Yes, well, that’s what you get for hanging around with a rogue.’

Zevran shook his head and glared at her. ‘We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this. You don’t want the earring? You don’t get the earring. Very simple.’

Núria could see he was hurt, but she couldn’t help him there. She called out to Wynne and Alistair and led them on into the Pearl.

Zevran didn’t say a word during the fight with Paedan or when they reported back to Ignacio. They were sent just outside the city to dispatch a group of Qunari mercenaries, then to free a boy who had been kidnapped by Arl Howe. In the end, Ignacio offered Núria to visit Antiva one day for more jobs. She shrugged him off with a laugh, but in truth, she just wanted to be shot of him. For a moment she considered killing him, but then she just told him that their business was done and left. Zevran’s stubborn silence was getting to her, and if they stayed out in the city for much longer she would grab him and shake some sense into him. At Eamon’s estate, she assumed Zevran would run off without a word, but instead he pulled her into an embrace and thanked her for freeing him.

‘You … you need not thank me, Zev,’ she replied slightly breathlessly and feeling marginally guilty.

‘No, I do have to,’ he said. ‘I am simply not accustomed to the customs that come with our … arrangement. In the Crows, we do not have friends, and yet here you are, and I cannot help consider you as such.’

‘Zev, you’re more than a friend to me.’

Instead of turning away from her, as she had expected, Zevran smiled at her. ‘I … must admit that I have thought of you in the same way. I simply had no idea you might feel the same. How very novel.’

Núria leaned into his embrace and kissed him. ‘Do you want to come with me?’ She caressed his cheek with her fingertips. ‘Remember, there’s a bed in my room, like in Orzammar, only bigger.’

Zevran tensed and took a step away from her as if he was scared. ‘No, I … No. I mean no offence, I simply … No.’

Núria frowned slightly. ‘Are you all right?’

Zevran glared at her. ‘I do not wish to talk about it.’ He took another step backwards and bumped into the wall behind him.

‘Oh, well, then maybe you think we should end this altogether?’ Núria asked angrily, cursing herself for her quick tongue the moment the words were out.

‘If that is what you wish,’ Zevran replied, no emotion showing on his features.

‘I asked you first,’ Núria said, her eyes somewhere near his shoulder. How could things just go so wrong?

Zevran shook himself visibly. ‘Let us not play this game, shall we?’ He sounded much less angry than before, and she dared look up again. ‘There are other things for you to focus on besides me, I am certain. Do … do those.’

Núria folded her arms. ‘You have some nerve calling me frustrating,’ she said and marched off into her room alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Yes, manaclash forces Gaxkang to shapeshift from the arcane horror form to the revenant form. The reason is that he shifts when he runs out of mana. You kind of force that, and you also deal a ton of damage.))


	22. Why Have You Forsaken Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Chapter heading ... I've quoted a quote, that’s an all-time low! I was actually thinking of Chop Suey by System of a Down, but typing the words it struck me that it’s of course a very very very much older quote. Very. ;) I thought the song fit this chapter, so I’m not going to apologise for putting it into your heads.))

The next morning, Núria decided to talk to Eamon again and was surprised to find Queen Anora’s handmaiden Erlina, claiming the queen had been taken captive. According to the woman she had been very concerned by the dark rumours about her father Loghain and the king but had never received a proper answer. So she had turned to Howe in hope of some information, but instead she had been locked into a guest room. In the end, the handmaiden said Anora’s life might be in danger – Loghain had killed his son-in-law without flinching, after all. Eamon suggested that Núria and a couple of her party entered the arl’s estate under Erlina’s directions to free the queen. Núria collected Alistair, who had been in the room the entire time, Wynne, and tried to hunt down Zevran, but when she couldn’t find him anywhere, she took Leliana instead.

She was so angry she followed the woman almost blindly. Alistair asked her if anything was wrong, but she just shook her head. Part of her feared Zevran had decided to leave after all, and a savage little voice inside her wondered if that wouldn’t just make matters easier.

Rescuing Anora turned out not to be as easy as they had hoped. Her door was sealed by magic, and the source of that spell was supposedly at Howe’s side. So they moved on, into his room and even further into a cellar. Somewhere down there Núria felt her feet catching on something and fell to the floor, face forwards.

Leliana suppressed a giggle. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,’ she said, helping Núria to her feet. ‘But to see you overlook a tripwire … Where are you?’

Núria sighed. ‘Somewhere out of this bleeding … what in Andraste’s name _is_ that place?’ She looked around for the first time.

‘Torture chamber,’ Alistair said lightly. ‘You weren’t really paying attention, were you?’

‘No.’

Alistair looked at her with warm eyes. ‘Is there anything that worries you?’

For a moment Núria felt she had to pour her heart out to the templar. ‘I couldn’t seem to find Zevran anywhere. I’m just worried, what if they catch him?’

‘I … do not think he’ll get caught,’ Alistair said. Somehow the way he said this made her suspicious. ‘Look, someone’s locked in there.’

‘It’s a dungeon, what do you expect?’ Núria asked, but Alistair ignored her and strode up to the cell in question.

To their great horror, the man inside it was a Grey Warden from Orlais. His name was Riordan, and Loghain had invited him to his estate and poisoned him with a drink to put him in this dungeon. For a moment Núria broke out of her stupor and asked him if he could induct other Grey Wardens, but Riordan just shook his head, explaining that in addition to darkspawn blood, they needed a drop of that of an archdemon. Leliana gasped softly, and Núria wondered what Zevran would have said to that. That thought was rather painful, however, so she told Riordan to get out of the place to Eamon and led the rest on.

Riordan wasn’t the only man held captive. Tied to a rack, they found a young noble man, who promised his father’s support at the Landsmeet in exchange for his freedom. In another cell there was a templar, completely mad from too much lyrium over too long a time. He handed Leliana his signet ring, believing she was his sister Bann Alfstanna. Núria decided to find her and give her the ring, perhaps she would also support them. The templar was in no fit state to leave the dungeon, and when Leliana suggested putting him out of his misery, Alistair simply turned away as Núria cut his throat. Even Wynne did not protest, even though she did look unhappy.

They found Arl Howe all right, flanked by two mages who Núria could only assume were the ones upholding the barrier. ‘He needs two for what you did alone in the tower,’ she whispered to Wynne, who nodded slowly, apparently working on not looking _very_ proud.

Howe did not seem to wish to discuss the situation. The fight was hard, but could have been worse. Leliana focused on keeping the mages from casting and succeeded, until one of them suddenly turned into a huge spider. ‘Uh-oh,’ the Orlesian made and set out to jab at the thing. It reminded Núria of the spiders in the deep roads, and she wondered why anyone would want to transform into a tainted creature of all things. Fighting Howe was more imminent than pondering this, however, so she left the spider to a disgusted-looking Leliana.

When they finally got back to Anora, the door actually opened, and they walked out of the corridor to backtrack their steps. Entering the large hall outside in light spirits, their hearts sank as they met the woman who had accompanied Loghain to Eamon – Cauthrien, wasn’t it? – leading an incredible amount of soldiers in plate mail.

‘Warden!’ she called. ‘In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms. Surrender, and you may be shown mercy.’

Núria thought of the boy on the rack, who suddenly turned into Zevran, who, for the first time, was not there when she needed him. She sheathed her weapons, feeling helpless and entirely alone. ‘Do what you must.’ Alistair protested, but Núria shook her head. ‘Look at them. We stand no chance. It’s over.’

‘I am surprised this ended peacefully,’ Cauthrien admitted. ‘Bring the Wardens. Loghain doesn’t care about the rest.’

Ϡ

Núria opened her eyes and groaned. She didn’t care that she was naked in a cell with Alistair; she didn’t care that she couldn’t move a muscle. She felt like a child that had been forsaken in a strange country. Alistair was kneeling next to her, his eyes swollen. ‘I’m so sorry. I tried to do something, but they were just too many.’

Núria swallowed. ‘What on earth did they want to know from us?’ she asked hoarsely, but Alistair merely shrugged.

‘They didn’t really ask me anything,’ he said. He gathered her aching body in his strong arms and carried her over to a dirty blanket, where he put her down in a sitting position, leaning against the wall. ‘They just said in a few hours I would get the same as you.’ To his credit, he didn’t sound scared, although Núria wouldn’t have been able to blame him if he had.

She had no idea how long she had been tied to that rack, or how badly damaged she was. She could only guess that it was worrisome. Her joints ached, and she couldn’t even crawl, let alone walk. She wondered vaguely if she would heal, but in the end, it didn’t matter. ‘Flee. Get your hide out of here and lead them on.’

Alistair gave her an appraising look. ‘You cannot get out with me, can you?’ Carrying her all the way out of Fort Drakon was not an option. Núria merely shook her head. ‘Well, I’m not leaving you. They’ll get us out of here. I cannot see how, but I’m sure they will.’

Núria looked at him, at the confidence in the templar’s eyes, and wondered where he took it from. Perhaps it had something to do with not having your own body almost ripped in half. ‘Leliana would maybe try something heroic, but she’s only one.’

‘You don’t really think Zev’s going to let you rot here, do you?’ Alistair asked with a bemused expression. ‘Before you were up he said he was … going to the Pearl, but I think he was just hoping I’d tell you to make you angry. He went off towards the alienage, I watched him. I don’t know what happened, but he _won’t_ leave you here.’

For the first time in years, Núria felt tears rising to her eyes. ‘He won’t be bothered. Oh, why could I not keep my mouth shut?’

Alistair pulled her into an awkward embrace. ‘Whatever you said, Anora will make it very clear what they’re likely to do to us here, and I just cannot see him shrugging and leaving. Zev will come for you, I promise.’

She imagined what Zevran would have to say to that last sentence, and a small, if slightly dejected smile formed on her lips. ‘If you really think he’ll be bursting in here at any given moment, you shouldn’t be so close to me in your state of undress. We _are_ talking about an assassin there.’

Alistair grinned, relieved that the torture had not destroyed her spirit. ‘Oh, perhaps he might just want to join. On this rag or the rack, he’s the expert.’ To his credit, he disengaged himself from Núria all the same, sitting half an arm’s length away from her and staring at the door.

Ϡ

Zevran came back from his trip through Denerim feeling foolish and angry at himself. He was going to find Núria and apologise, tell her he had been childish. There was a number of things he thought he _should_ tell her, but he didn’t think he would manage it all. An apology was in order, however.

He walked straight to her room and found it empty. Eamon would perhaps know where she was, so he went to find the arl. When he heard that she had left for Howe’s estate, his self-reproach reached a peak. He talked to the arl for a while, learning that when they returned they should go to the elven alienage. Zevran decided that he would be the one to bring her the good news. She would like this.

When after hours there was still no trace of her, he decided to see Eamon again, to ask him how long he thought they would be at Howe’s. On the way there, he was nearly knocked to the ground by a strange woman and Wynne rushing past him, and by Leliana, who stopped in her tracks and glared at him.

‘You!’ she said. ‘You dare set foot in this place again?’ She moved towards him, so close that he backed away into a closet. A key pressed uncomfortably into the small of his back, but Leliana had stepped up to him so closely that he couldn’t get away. ‘Maker knows what they’ll do, and it’s your fault!’ She slapped his face so hard that he saw stars for a moment, and he blinked. He made a step forwards after all, nearly knocking Leliana off balance.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he asked. ‘Have you lost your remaining bit of sanity now?’

Leliana’s anger deflated visibly. Her shoulders slumped and her head hang low. ‘Sorry. This horrible woman of Loghain’s took Núria and Alistair captive. Anora thinks they brought her to Fort Drakon … No, _wait_ , we need a plan!’

Zevran stopped in mid-run. ‘We?’

Leliana gave a wry grin. ‘You’re not going alone, Zev. We’ll sneak in, get them, and fight our way out.’

Wynne didn’t let them go without supplying them with potions for themselves as well as the two Wardens. Anora had hinted that the guards of Fort Drakon had a thing for torture and Wynne had handed them two flasks of a potion that was made specially for the kind of injury sustained that way. Zevran would have wanted to just run in with a shout of anger, but he knew very well that this wouldn’t get him very far. Perhaps, he found, Leliana and he were just the people to do this. ‘You know, you never feel so alive as when you’re breaking and entering,’ Zevran told her when they had left the front door behind them. Two guards were flanking the next door, and the two rogues exchanged a short glance before approaching them.

‘State your business,’ one of the two said in a bored voice.

‘I have a delivery for the commander of the fort,’ Zevran said.

‘I don’t know about anything coming today,’ the guard replied, not moving a muscle.

‘Well, could you ask someone?’ Leliana asked, batting her eyelashes. ‘Pretty please?’ She tilted her head for good measure and looked as though she couldn’t hurt a fly. She knew this kind of game, that much was clear.

The guard, however, was oblivious. He sighed. ‘Fine. Wait over there. I’ll get the captain.’ He ushered them into an adjacent room and strode off.

Leliana smiled, feeling confident at last. ‘You’ll see, the captain won’t be more difficult.’

Zevran chuckled. ‘Oh, I’m sure you could charm us all the way in. I’ll just keep a knife handy all the same, shall I?’

Leliana winked at him, and they waited for a few very long minutes.

‘All right, what’s this about?’ the captain asked slightly impatiently as he entered the room. Zevran put his hand to where he had hidden a small dagger. It was concealed under his armour at the small of his back. A dangerous place to keep a blade, but as long as he didn’t fall backwards down a flight of stairs, it shouldn’t do him any harm.

‘We’re making a delivery, Captain,’ Leliana said politely.

‘I wasn’t notified about anything the like.’

‘It was a little spur of the moment, I’ll admit.’ Leliana’s Orlesian accent sounded stronger than it normally did, unless Zevran was very much mistaken. It did slur over the words in a manner that might sound appealing. All he could do was hope this worked. ‘Cook at the royal palace had a lot of soup bones left over and wanted to send them to the dogs here.’ Ah, she was being an Orlesian maid. Zevran kept his grin from reaching his mouth.

‘Table scraps?’ the captain asked. ‘Oh Maker … Fine. Take them to the kennel.’

They were allowed to pass, and Leliana giggled softly. ‘I _told_ you it would work. Although this might be trickier.’ She gestured to the next room. It was full of guards, one harassed-looking woman leaning beside the door on the far side.

Zevran grinned. ‘You think you’re the only one who knows this song? Just you wait and see.’ He strolled up to the woman, looking her up and down shamelessly. ‘This is a crime,’ he stated emphatically.

The woman blinked. ‘What?’ She sounded so surprised that Leliana wondered for a moment if she would have noticed them at all if they had just walked through the door.

Zevran put on a saddened look. Leliana wouldn’t have bought it, but then again, perhaps she had just known him for too long to be fooled. ‘For a young woman in the prime of her life to waste away. I suppose there is some comfort in the knowledge that you sacrifice your youth and beauty, the best years of your life, for your kingdom, but it seems … such a loss.’

Leliana found he was over-egging the pudding. The woman was far from being old, but the way he talked she might have been less than twenty years old, which she most certainly wasn’t. And she was not, nor ever had been, by the looks of her, beautiful. She wasn’t ugly either. She looked plain to the point of insignificance, and if she had any sense, she was aware of it.

‘I … hadn’t really thought of it that way,’ the guard said, and Leliana only just managed not to gape at her.

‘How noble, to sacrifice the pleasures of life so others might enjoy them,’ Zevran said, and Leliana was half surprised that he didn’t emphasise his praise with a bow. ‘Your idealism is impressive.’ Now he actually _did_ lower his head to her … Oh, the nerve of him!

‘You know, you’re right,’ the woman mused with a slight frown. Well, at least that gave her face character. ‘Three Satinalias in a row, they’ve stuck me on baracks duty. Three! I’m going to live my life before it’s too late. Let somebody else guard their stupid door.’ With that, she marched off, leaving the door behind her. Zevran shrugged at Leliana, and they passed unheeded.

‘Satinalia?’ Leliana asked. ‘I never realised it was that time of the year … I must have lost my track of time somewhere in the wilderness.’

Zevran patted her shoulder. ‘So did I, but a day of walking around Denerim brought it back. At least it did some good, damn it all. This is my fault.’

Leliana stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘Come to think of it, we couldn’t have fought them if we had been all of us together. Let’s face it, we’re not prepared for an army. At least not an army wearing plate mail.’

Further on, they met some resistance. Zevran found a key to the front door, which might come in handy if someone should actually realise there were intruders. Finally, they found the actual prison and the jailer running towards them, screaming for assistance. He was silenced quickly, and they found a small cell with Núria and Alistair’s clothing. Zevran frowned slightly at that as he gathered the clothes, leaving the plate mail for the templar to get by himself, but refrained from commenting it. If anything, he scanned the prison cells more frantically than before, until he finally skidded to a halt next to the only inhabited one. With shaking fingers and cursing under his breath in his native tongue, he unlocked the door and burst through it.

Alistair gave a sigh of relief, but Zevran shot past him to where Núria was leaning against the wall. Her eyes snapped open, and she struggled to get to her feet. Zevran knew this kind of failure at getting up. He fell to his knees beside her. ‘Rack?’ he asked, and she nodded, so overwhelmed with relief she didn’t trust her voice. ‘Drink this, wait a minute, then we get out.’ He poured the contents of one of the flasks Wynne had given him and Leliana down her throat. ‘Here are your things … When you feel up to it, get into them. Let the rest of us do the fighting if we must, Wynne will have a look at you when we’re back.’ He pressed a chaste kiss to Núria’s forehead and finally turned to Alistair.

‘I’m fine,’ the templar said at once. Zevran handed him his clothes.

Leliana had gone crimson and turned away when she had seen he wasn’t wearing anything. ‘What did they take your clothes for?’

‘Humiliation?’ Zevran suggested. ‘Some people turn devious when given power. Just look at Núria to get an idea of it.’ The elven woman had managed to get into her clothes and was standing there, supporting herself with one hand from the wall. Zevran smiled at her. ‘You look like a filly trying to stand for the first time.’ She glared at him, her lower lip shaking, before she lunged at him. He caught her in an embrace, but she pulled away, hammering her fists against his chest and cursing him under sobs. He looked at Alistair, but the templar merely shrugged. ‘Enough,’ Zevran said at last, catching her wrists and stopping her motions. ‘Let’s get out of here, we can talk later. I’ve heard rumours that there is something going on in your alienage, a purge or some such thing.’ Núria stopped her efforts and blinked up at his face. He cupped the back of her head and looked at her. ‘We can go there, we’re even supposed to go there. Let’s go see your family.’

‘I’m not taking _you_ to them,’ Núria said, determined to punish him for not having been there.

Zevran smiled sadly, and she turned her face away. She would not fall to his charms, not this time, not ever again. ‘Not even if I ask you to? Pretty please?’ Núria heard Leliana’s snort behind her, but didn’t heed it. Zevran’s hand was at her jaw, and he was pushing her face up so she had to look into his eyes.

‘Bugger,’ she said with a sniff.

Zevran smirked. ‘Not entirely inaccurate,’ he said in an audible whisper. A small, though exasperated grin from Núria told him he had won.


	23. Bad Weeds

Núria only just managed to stumble after the others as they walked out of Fort Drakon, only stopped once or twice by overzealous guards. They reached Eamon’s estate without any trouble. There, they were greeted by the arl and a slightly flustered Anora. Eamon pressed for time, lest they all ended up in Fort Drakon to share Núria and Alistair’s experiences. Núria wouldn’t wish what she had suffered on anyone – well, almost. She still ached, despite the potion, and somehow her knees felt rather unreliable. Wynne had cast a spell on her the moment she had stepped through the door, positively leaning on Zevran, but the pain just wouldn’t go away. ‘So how much time do we have to stop Loghain?’ Núria asked.

‘Very little,’ Anora told her. ‘We will need to work together, and quickly. My father has gone mad. I didn’t believe it at first, but he is gripped in a paranoia so severe it prevents him from seeing sense. He saw me as a threat, but even now I’m certain he will be telling the nobles you are dangerous murderers that have kidnapped and mind-controlled me. He may even believe it.

‘Since Ostagar, the city has been in turmoil. Strangely, the unrest is worst in the alienage. Few elves accompanied the army. They should have little reason to be upset. Which means that Howe and my father must have given them reason.’

Núria raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t really see how solving troubles in an alienage would help with the nobles, but she liked the fact that Anora even paid attention to anything going on there. Well, she probably wouldn’t under normal circumstances, but still … ‘I heard we should go there, I’ll ask around.’

Anora smiled. ‘I would also like to join forces with you. You need something for the Landsmeet, but you also need a stronger candidate for the throne. You need me.’ Núria remembered hearing almost the same sentence from Eamon, only the other way round. She grinned, an idea starting to form in her head. ‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ Anora continued. ‘I have no doubt Alistair is biddable enough, and decent, but even with his blood, he is no king. You think only I can see it?

‘Not only that, Alistair is a Grey Warden. It will look like you’re trying to put a Grey Warden on the throne, despite your claims. I am a neutral party – and I am already queen.’ Eamon frowned slightly, but Núria found she had a point. She glanced at Alistair, who had been listening intently while trying to look inconspicuous. Núria realised that Eamon was talking to her, but just now she wanted to speak with Anora some more, in private, and so she followed her when she left for her own room.

‘Can I … talk to you for a moment?’ Núria asked her quickly, and Anora slowed her stride.

She scowled. ‘Are you feeling well? I know how prisoners are treated in Fort Drakon, I must say I am very relieved you came out alive.’

Núria waved her away. ‘I’m fine enough, thanks. You want an alliance with me, you said. I’m an elf from the alienage. Why are you even listening to me?’

Anora stopped and looked at her. ‘You are a Grey Warden, and no one will care for a moment where you came from. And nor do I, for that matter. What I ask of you is this: Will you support my bid in the Landsmeet to remain on the throne? Your advantage in that would be that despite being my father’s enemy, you’d be in support of his daughter. You will be seen as supporting the interests of Ferelden rather than solely those of the Grey Wardens. In return, I add my voice to yours. Do you see? Together we can do what alone we cannot.’

Núria hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘There’s an idea: We do as you say, but you marry Alistair. The best of both worlds. I have travelled with him for a long time now, his qualities don’t always show at the first glance, but they’re there.’

Anora looked at a point behind Núria, her face slightly pained. ‘Ignoring that the man looks so much like Cailan – my recently-dead husband, if you recall – my main fear is that he may govern like Cailan as well. But it is true that Alistair has Theirin blood. To some, this is more important even than practical consideration. A union might be considered a compromise, but … is this something Alistair even desires?’

Núria gave her a wry grin. ‘I reiterate, I’ve spent a lot of time with him on the road. I know how to convince him.’

Anora took a deep breath. ‘Let me say this,’ she said, moving on towards her room in a slow pace Núria could follow without wincing. ‘If Alistair is willing to stand back and allow me to continue governing the nation, then I would be willing to have him as my king. It is my understanding that governing does not appeal to him anyhow. If that is so, this is a compromise I can live with.’

Núria grinned at her. ‘I’ll tell him that.’

The templar was still leaning against the same shelf as before. ‘So, I’m guessing someone has told Anora I was planning to steal her throne. She has a nasty glare. She wants to be queen. I get it. I don’t trust her any more than her father, but I get it.’

Núria rubbed the bridge of her nose with two fingers. ‘I think we can trust her as long as we do not stab her in the back. Or what she would consider backstabbing, like putting you on the throne.’

‘What do you think of her as a queen? You might even get a say in the Landsmeet.’

‘I think,’ Núria began in almost as careful a tone as she had used with Anora, ‘you should … marry her.’

Alistair gaped at her. ‘Marry her? As in marriage? As in be her husband?’

‘As in take her to bed and give her a successor to the throne, and all the fun stuff involved with that.’

Alistair blinked. ‘Zev has a bad influence on the way you think. You’ve spoken to her about this? The marriage bit, I mean. You did, didn’t you?’

‘Her terms are that you let her rule and look pretty sitting next to her.’

The human frowned at that. ‘And why would I even consider that?’

Núria grinned at him. ‘Play her. Be nice and nod at what she says until you’re married. Just do what I suggested: Look after yourself, for no one else will. See here, it’s the smart thing to do. And I think you know that, too.’

Alistair sighed. ‘I … Maybe you’re right. I hate it when you’re right. Go ahead then, tell her I’ll do it, if it comes to that. Now excuse me while I go have a small heart attack somewhere. No big deal, right?’

Núria patted his arm. ‘We’re leaving for the alienage after I told her. Try and find Wynne and Zev before your unfortunate demise.’

‘Demise … Yeah, that’s likely,’ Alistair muttered, shuffling out of the room.

Ϡ

Núria had to admit that she rather liked Anora. She had sighed and told her that she hadn’t expected Alistair to agree, and Núria almost felt guilty for advising the templar to fool her. She pushed Anora firmly from her mind as they entered the alienage. Either it looked worse than when last she was here, or she simply wasn’t used to it any more. A dead dog lay beside a pool of blood, and somehow the entire place seemed to be forsaken. Apprehensively, she walked to her father’s house and entered, to find Soris, who gaped at her for a moment before he ran over to pull her into a tight hug. ‘My sweet cousin!’ he exclaimed, still looking at her without blinking as though she might dissolve into mist at any moment. ‘Welcome home! Come in, come in! We assumed you were with the other Wardens at Ostagar. Things have been … difficult since you’ve been gone.’

Núria looked around. ‘Where’s father?’

Soris’s face fell. ‘The healers took him into quarantine a few days ago. I’m sorry, Núrie.’

‘What’s going on here? I heard something about a purge.’

‘Arl Howe led it. Vengeance for Vaughan’s death, they say. And on top of that, they say we have an outbreak of the plague here. They take people to quarantine and then they’re never seen again.’

‘Where is this quarantine?’

‘Just go looking for a crowd of people, that’s where it is. It’s good to see you, Núrie.’

Núria turned to her companions the moment they left her father’s house. ‘Right, I’m going to pretend I’m ill, that’ll get me –’

‘No!’ Alistair and Zevran said at the same time. The two men exchanged glances.

‘Look, I can sneak out again,’ she told them with a slight frown.

‘Not that I don’t trust your sneaking-skills, but this sounds a lot like a desperate measure,’ Alistair said.

Zevran made a face. ‘Trust me, you don’t want to overtax yourself just yet. I would know what I’m talking about. I bet you you’ll have to fight your way out of there, and at the moment I just don’t think this is a good idea. A rack can do a lot of damage.’

‘Do you have a better idea?’ Núria asked, looking from one to the other.

‘Perhaps look for a back entrance,’ Zevran said. ‘Let’s just try, shall we? If there’s no other way, you can do that, but I really don’t think you should go alone. I can’t even think about you not coming back out.’

Núria bit her lower lip, touched by his concern. ‘Very well.’

They walked on until they reached a group of angry elves, talking to two guards in strange robes. ‘Tevinter,’ Wynne whispered to Núria from behind her. ‘I don’t like this, listen to the two. We’ll find another way.’

Núria nodded absent-mindedly. A strong female voice rose over the general angry murmurs in the crowd. ‘So you’re helping us, are you, _shem_? Like Valendrian and my uncle Cyrion, you helped them, too, didn’t you? Helped them never to be seen again! Half the people you quarantine are perfectly healthy! Charlatans!’

Núria grinned like a madwoman and ran towards her. ‘ _Shianni_!’

A red-haired woman in the middle of the small crowd spun around to stare at her. ‘I don’t believe it.’ She took a step closer to her. ‘Maker’s breath! They said all the Grey Wardens died with the king. Everyone thought … Valendrian even held a funeral for you. Núrie, you have no idea … the things that happened after your wedding … I’m babbling, aren’t I? I’m so happy to see you.’ Again, she was swept into a fierce hug, and for a moment Núria wanted nothing than just to be allowed to stay here for good.

‘A wedding?’ she heard Zevran behind her and disengaged herself from Shianni. ‘So there is a secretive side to you after all.’

There was something to his voice that made her turn around and look at him. Why did he always have to be so hard to read? ‘I was betrothed. It didn’t end well.’

‘You didn’t tell me that, either. So what went wrong? Was the food bad?’

Núria looked at the place where Vaughan had stood when he had announced he was taking them with him. She couldn’t tell him what she wanted to, not with Shianni standing next to her. ‘He died,’ she said instead, and Zevran swallowed.

‘I … don’t know what to say to that.’

Núria gave him a wry grin. ‘I did. Then I got conscripted by the Wardens.’

‘Truly, I never asked about that, but I assumed there wasn’t so much of a story to it because you never brought it up at all,’ he said, but there was something in his eyes that made him look hurt.

Núria took a step towards him. ‘Zev, don’t make this a debate on principle. Try and trust me, and if you can, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to keep it secret.’

Zevran closed his eyes and shook his head as though trying to get rid of a very persistent midge. Núria opened her mouth to speak again but found his index finger on her lips. ‘I’m not mad. Let’s just add this to the list of things we should discuss, shall we?’

Núria took hold of his hand and placed a small kiss on it before she turned to Shianni again. Her cousin was giving her a knowing smile, and she blushed. ‘So let’s get into that quarantine. And we’re not coming back without someone paying for taking father and Valendrian.’

Shianni beamed at her. ‘That’s right. Go get them. They’re keeping the people in the warehouse, but you can’t just enter. Try the apartments, get out at the other side and enter from there.’

Núria nodded. ‘Thanks, I’ll do that,’ she said and tried to disappear without attracting the attention of the Tevinter guards.

On the way to the apartments, they met a blind templar who had volunteered to investigate rumours of an enclave of maleficarum in the alienage. Núria didn’t question why on earth a blind man was sent to investigate, but promised to have a look around for anything suspicious once she had found out what had happened to the missing people. She intended to spend a couple of days here anyway. They might be under time pressure, but chances were that she would not see her family in a while once she left.

Inside the apartments, they talked to a scared, sick elf, who informed them, however reluctantly, that Cyrion had been carried through the building the day before, looking like a dead man. Núria took him by the scruff of his neck. ‘Where did they take everyone?’

‘Through the landlord’s old office,’ the pour soul stuttered. ‘They go in there, they never come back.’

Núria let him slip to the floor unceremoniously and walked on into said office just to find it empty. She swore softly and burst through the door into the open. She didn’t even wait for the Tevinters out on the street to react properly to her and her companions’ sudden appearance but attacked without preamble only to run on to the next building.

An elf stepped in Núria’s way, and for a moment she thought they would get help. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ the dark-haired woman asked. ‘I was told that there would be no interference from the authorities!’

‘I’m looking for my people,’ Núria said, slightly out of breath.

‘You will regret this, you know. Believe it or not, we have been given dispensation to do our business here. The humans talk a great deal about how very wrong slavery is, but isn’t it funny how quickly the smell of gold overcomes such ideals?’

Núria stared at her. ‘How … how can you of all people sell elves into slavery?’

The woman laughed drily. ‘So you think we’re kin? I am Tevinter first and a servant of the Minrathous Circle second, those are the things that matter. But enough. I am here to halt your slaughter, nothing more.’

‘Unless you want to be one of the slaughtered, get out,’ Núria told her, pointing to the door behind her with her dagger.

‘I am no fool. I can see that you are capable. So be it. I will let Caladrius deal with you while I fetch the Regent’s men. I suggest you leave while you still can.’ With that, she walked out. For a moment, Núria felt like running after her and killing her all the same, but then she shook the urge off and moved on through the building.

They found only little resistance before they stepped through a door into the large stockroom. Núria scanned her surroundings quickly. They were on high ground on a balustrade, it was a pity really that none of them were archers. A considerable group of Tevinters and a bald mage were standing below, and in quite a few cages elves were cooped up.

‘I am Caladrius,’ the mage introduced himself. ‘And you, I assume, must be the Grey Warden I heard so much about.’

‘Let’s cut this short and get to the point where you tell me how you’d like to die,’ Núria said loudly. She saw one of the elves in the cages jumping and staring through the bars at her.

‘I would prefer to conclude my business here,’ Caladrius said. ‘If that requires that you and I come to some terms, then so be it.’

‘Name them.’

‘An exchange, perhaps? I have heard that you’re trying to erode Loghain’s support. It must be a difficult task, yes? Like washing away a mountain. Perhaps you could use some help.’

Núria leaned on the balustrade. ‘Your watchdog made it sound as though you had an agreement with Loghain.’

‘More of an arrangement,’ Caladrius corrected her. ‘One that disappears the moment angry, armed intruders storm my abode. Truth be told, there was always a limit to how long we were going to be able to operate here. We’ve …’

‘Quiet. Tell me what you want and cut out the sorry rest.’

‘One hundred sovereigns from you for a letter with the seal of the Teyrn of Gwaren upon it, implicating him in all of this. We leave a few days earlier than planned, with our profits and remaining slaves, unharmed.’

Zevran made an impatient huff behind her. Núria took a step away from the banister and frowned. ‘I have a counter-offer,’ she said with a small grin. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Zevran retrieving a flask of some poison for his weapons while Caladrius looked intrigued. Funny, how well the Antivan knew her, really. ‘My offer is this,’ she said, looking towards the ceiling as though weighing her words to give Zevran a few more moments with his clandestine preparations. She watched him pocket the flask and returned her gaze to Caladrius with a hard glare. ‘I kill you, and take everything for free.’

‘Caladrius’s lips tightened. ‘Ahh, a comedian. You’ll get what you asked for, then.’

Núria half feared he would turn into such a thing as Uldred had, but a few seconds into the fight and surrounded by a positive blizzard – inside a building, in the name of the Maker! – she felt she wasn’t sure if that wouldn’t have been easier. The high ground wasn’t helping much either. There were stairs at both sides where the other Tevinters could stop them easily from running down to tackle Caladrius. Only when the last of them had died, they could run down and try and stop the mage from doing more damage. Luckily, a robe didn’t offer much physical protection, so once they had got there, Caladrius sank to his knees quickly. ‘Enough, enough!’ he called desperately, and Núria eyed him with great disgust. ‘I surrender!’

Núria snorted. ‘You wish.’

‘Wait!’ Caladrius screamed. ‘Hear me out dear lady! Were I to use the life-force of the remaining slaves here, I could … augment your physical health a great deal! Allow me to leave this place alive and I would be more than happy to do this little service for you.’

Núria struggled for words for a moment. ‘Use the … _what_? This is my father you’re talking about, you disgusting bit of vermin!’ She lunged at the mage, knocking him onto his back, and rammed her dagger into his chest five times until her gloves were soaked with blood. Disgusted, she took them off and threw them into Caladrius’s face, where they landed with a soft, moist sound. Still shaking with anger, she took a key from the body and unlocked the cages, starting with her father Cyrion, who glanced at her with amazement.

‘My little girl,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. Núria couldn’t help laughing. He had just watched her slaughter a man without remorse, but to him she was the innocent child she had been years ago. ‘I didn’t think I’d see you again. When they said all the Grey Wardens died at Ostagar, I prayed they were wrong. Are you all right? What are you doing here?’

‘Oh, this and that,’ she said lightly. ‘Gathering outlaws and apostates, I travel through Ferelden and kill darkspawn and mages and what not.’

Cyrion smiled weakly. ‘Come to our house. There is something I should give you. I hope you aren’t leaving at once?’

‘I planned on staying a night or two,’ she told him, ‘but I have to go soon. I have to take care of Loghain. I … um, I know we don’t have too much room, but I’d hate for those three to sleep on the streets. We all have bedrolls, so we’ll only crowd the floor a little.’

Cyrion smiled at them, at the humans as well as Zevran. ‘Your friends are always welcome, my Núrie.’


	24. Tea-Time

Núria had thought she would sleep like a baby now she was home, but the truth was, she couldn’t close her eyes. If anything, the pain coursing through her body had increased, and Wynne pointedly refused to give her something that would suppress it. She tried to lie still, lest she woke the others up, but even that proved difficult. She jumped slightly when a hand touched her shoulder in the darkness. ‘Hush, it’s just me,’ Zevran’s whispered. ‘Still in pain, are you?’

Núria nodded, then she realised this was not a useful means of communication at the moment. ‘It’s bearable.’

A soft snort answered her. ‘After your exertions with Caladrius it would be a small wonder if you didn’t feel like you’ve fallen off a horse and been trampled on by it. Come outside, I have something for you. Don’t wake Wynne or she’ll murder me for disturbing your rest.’

Núria moved twice as carefully as she normally would have done, but she didn’t trust herself to be quiet and quick at the same time at the moment. Outside, she found Zevran, sitting cross-legged beside a small fire. He had placed a kettle on it and removed it the moment she came out. ‘You didn’t only just light that.’

‘No, of course not,’ he said. He poured the steaming liquid into a cup for her and handed it over. ‘I warn you, this won’t taste like what you normally get for tea, but it will take care of the pain.’

Núria sniffed it. ‘Weird. What on earth is that? Normally the things you carry around don’t make people feel better.’

Zevran laughed softly. ‘A spur of the moment, really. I nicked it from Ignacio, to tell the truth. He did make me angry, the way he talked to me, and since killing him wasn’t really an option, I tried to steal something instead. I thought it would be a poison, but I don’t even want to know how much of it I would need to make it dangerous.’

‘I heard things that suppress pain make you sleepy.’

‘What does that matter at the dead of night? Look, I’ll try it first if you’re not sure …’

‘Don’t finish that sentence, you should know better,’ Núria interrupted him. She took a small sip and blinked. ‘I’m not sure if it’s going to be my favourite tea. Am I supposed to finish this?’

Zevran laughed softly. ‘Oh, dear, no. I thought we could share it.’

‘Are you in pain too?’

Zevran blinked, then kissed her. ‘No, but I could do with a little courage.’

She snuggled closer. ‘So we’ll have tea and that talk, right?’

Zevran nodded. ‘I thought it’s time for me to … to apologise to you, first of all.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I should not have left you like I did that evening, and I shouldn’t have disappeared the next morning. I … am sorry.’

Núria nodded and took his hand. The temperature of the strange brew was getting bearable by now, and she took another sip. ‘I just ask you not to do it again. Vanish without a word, I mean. I thought you wouldn’t come back.’

Zevran slid an arm around her. ‘That is something you need not fear. I promised I’ll stay, and stay I will.’

‘Until the blight is ended,’ Núria added and handed him the cup.

Zevran took a generous gulp and made a face. ‘Oh, I remembered that differently. Long time since I had to do something about pain. Oh, by the way, it might take a while until you feel anything, you should be careful.’

‘Careful? I thought this is harmless.’

‘Harmlessness is in the eye of the beholder. As far as you are concerned, I am harmless, too.’

‘Zevran, are you drugging me?’

‘Not much. It does work well against pain, however, and I am thinking you could do with that. You’re not planning on resting tomorrow, I take it, so you’d better get some sleep. Again, just don’t be impatient and drain the entire mug in one go.’

‘What will this do to me?’ Núria asked.

Zevran leaned over to her and placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘Who knows? Maybe you won’t notice anything.’

‘Up until a few days ago I would have said you’re trying to seduce me.’

Zevran frowned at the fire. ‘If that were my plan I would tell you beforehand.’

‘Zev … I’ll ask you again, are you having second thoughts about us? I won’t scream and shout if that’s the case, I just … have to know.’

Zevran sighed softly. ‘Nonsense. I get it, you want to talk about this. But I’m not sure if you’ll understand.’

‘Try me,’ Núria challenged him, taking the cup from him again and drinking a little more courageously.

Zevran glanced at her and grinned. ‘All right, I’ll try you. Try to imagine what it’s like being an assassin. I told you about the mage? How she tried to trick me? If she had not died by accident, it would have worked. The Crows hammer that information into their apprentices, and so does the life of an assassin. It worked very well for me: I was taught that sentiment is dangerous. Getting side-tracked by a woman’s beauty and a smile was foolish, I learned, and you know what happened when I tried at deeper emotion. So I started to do what all of us did, take my pleasures where I could. I cannot emphasise enough that when I say I could, I mean I could without resorting to force – or drugs, for that matter.’

‘I … did not mean it that way, when I mentioned seduction,’ Núria told him, and he smiled.

‘No, I know you didn’t. The thing is, I find myself in a situation I cannot help but consider … dangerous. I thought what we have is something to enjoy, a diversion during a blight, and little more. And yet …’ He fell silent, staring into the flames, lost for words.

Núria offered him the cup, and he drank deeply. ‘Zev, are you trying to tell me you’re in love with me?’

Zevran bit his lower lip. ‘I don’t know. How would you know such a thing? Amongst whores you learn nothing of love, only the illusion of it they offer for sale. As an assassin, you must make your heart cold in favour of the kill. And now I find myself with you, and everything that I have been taught tells me that what I feel is wrong.’ He pulled Núria into a half embrace when he met her eyes and saw the uncertainty there. ‘I’ve been watching myself over the time now, how I desperately tried not to get too close to you. And I see how foolish my efforts were, turning qunari philosophy around into something ridiculous, repeating to myself that my concern for your well-being has only to do with the blight, telling myself that the only reason I’m still with you is the vow I made.’

If anything, Núria felt even more confused than before. ‘Zev, you were right. I do not understand a word.’ She wondered if that had to do with his tea. Slowly, the pain in her body did seem to subside, so probably the side effects would come as well. ‘Qunari philosophy?’

‘Yes, well, the qunari believe that knowing a person’s name gives you power over them, don’t they? I’ve known a few qunari in Antiva, they’re not so uptight, mostly. But our Sten won’t say his name, will he?’

‘I assumed Sten was his name.’

‘No. It’s a title. Like he calls you Warden, for example. He wouldn’t tell you his name if you threatened to kill him. They believe your name is linked to your soul, and if someone knows that name they can command it even when you’re no longer alive. When you told me your name, I found it funny. I still do, it doesn’t seem to fit into this place, but I correct myself, it fits you, even if you really don’t look Antivan. You have so much fire to make up for the Fereldan looks.’

Núria raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, wow, that’s what I call a compliment.’

Zevran started to laugh. ‘You know I didn’t mean it that way,’ he said unconcerned and she grinned. ‘Or do you just want to hear how stunning you look? There you go: You’re lovely and adorable and …’

‘Point taken,’ Núria interrupted him, still grinning like a maniac. Her face turned serious in the fraction of a second, and the wild glee in her head ceased just as quickly to turn into slightly indifferent confusion. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you kept calling me Kira because … what exactly? Sten doesn’t use my name because he may consider it indecent for someone who isn’t kin, if I got you right. But you cannot possibly have feared to abuse some kind of … power over me.’

‘Of course not. On the contrary, I realised that you had an effect on me, even before we got so close. Remember that first night? Normally when someone here asks me about Antiva, he gets some remark about whores and what not, and when you asked, I got sentimental. I am not a sentimental person, and it confused me. I got the feeling that you had power over me.’

‘So you decided not to use my name? I still don’t get it.’

‘Well, the things we say have a funny effect. If I tell you someone is plotting against you, you’ll start thinking about it, wondering if it might be true, even if it would never have occurred to you otherwise. By saying something out loud, we can make it more real, to ourselves as well as others. I felt you have something that might be my downfall, as I saw it. So I decided to turn you into something that is not really you. It didn’t work. But I notice that despite falling, I didn’t crash.’

‘Nor would I ever let you. So I take it this casual … thing we had cannot continue in that way. Would it shock you terribly if I told you it hasn’t been casual for me for a long time?’

Zevran’s smile was as warm as the tea and gentle … so gentle. ‘Not at all. Núrie … oh, this sounds impossible to me. Núria, do you think there might be some future for us? Some possibility of … I don’t know what?’

Perhaps it was due to the strange tea that Núria didn’t have to think twice to answer such a vague question. ‘I really hope so, Zev.’ She leaned into him and kissed him softly.

‘I … still have the earring,’ he said suddenly. ‘I would give it to you … as a token of affection. Will you take it?’

Núria leaned back a bit to look at him properly. ‘That sounds like a proposal.’ She had been less than half serious, but Zevran nodded solemnly.

‘Not unless you wish it,’ he replied. He produced the earring from his bag and offered it to her.

This time, Núria took it without hesitation. ‘Thank you. Of course I take it.’

‘Then that is enough for me.’ A mischievous glint entered his eyes. ‘You have some practice with proposals, I take it? Or is it here as it is in Antiva, that in alienages most marriages are arranged?’

‘Yes, it’s like that here, too. I … really liked him though, as far as I could tell. Zev, I couldn’t tell you before, but we talked about this, only you never knew it was supposed to be my wedding, and Soris’s too.’

‘I cannot remember ever talking about weddings with you at all,’ Zevran said with a slight frown. ‘I haven’t ever been so sloshed that I might have forgotten it, either.’

‘Not sloshed, but … lubricated,’ Núria replied, flushing madly at her choice of words. ‘I didn’t mention the wedding Zev, but I told you that I and some others were taken by the arl’s son.’

‘Oh … and that … was your … Oh.’ Zevran bit his lower lip. ‘I would say I’m sorry, and in part I am, in part I’m very aware that if this hadn’t happened I would not be sitting here with you.’ Zevran eyed the almost empty mug of tea in his hands.

‘Can I ask you one last question?’ Núria asked.

‘Of course, as many as you wish to.’

‘Alistair said you’d gone to the Pearl.’ She tried to sound nonchalant and failed magnificently.

‘Interesting question. I did, I saw an old friend there when we were working for Ignacio. Her name is Isabela, her husband was once a target. She wasn’t all that upset about his death and actually spent a night with me. What is more important, is that she’s a formidable fighter. She has agreed to show a friend of mine a few of her tricks. That friend would obviously be you, her style would suit you. I … did not bed her, or anyone, which was what you wanted to know, I take it.’

‘I feel foolish for asking, to tell the truth,’ Núria said.

Zevran shrugged. ‘No, by all means. It was what I wanted you to believe, and it would be something I might do. I’ve been acting like a child, Núria, I apologise.’ He eyed her for a moment. ‘How are you doing? Feeling any better?’

Núria massaged her knee lightly. The joint no longer felt as if there was gravel inside it. ‘A lot,’ she said. ‘About everything. The pain is gone, I see you can say my name without stuttering, and even the blight and everything looks less dreadful. It’s just as if I could see it in a different light. Could this actually be a chance for me, to prove my worth?’

Zevran ruffled her hair. ‘Try and look at things in that light tomorrow; it might not work though. The pain might come back a little, but I have more of those leaves, and if you manage to relax because it’s alleviated already, it will not be as bad any more. I promise.’

Ϡ

Núria managed to sleep after they had finished their tea, and when she woke up in the morning the pain was still gone. None of the others seemed to have noticed they had slipped out of the house some time at night, and Núria was rather relieved about that. Wynne did ask her if she still thought she needed something for the pain, but she refused with a smile. The mage looked slightly suspicious but did not enquire further. She told her to stay with her family for a while, assuring her that they would be able to deal with the situation the templar had mentioned on their own. So for once, Núria had a couple of hours to forget about Loghain and the Landsmeet and the blight. Her father handed her a dagger that had belonged to her mother, saying he should have passed it on to her before she had left with Duncan. Shianni took her aside to question her about Zevran, and for once, she felt she could admit that she cared for him without having to fear he would get wind of it. When Shianni told her that she had seen his affection for her in the few words they had exchanged before the Tevinter guards, Núria felt like singing. She refrained, however, when Zevran and Alistair stepped back into Cyrion’s house, looking a little worse for the wear but perfectly healthy.

‘Wynne will be a moment, she’s tending to Ser Otto,’ Alistair informed her at once. ‘Maleficarum he said. Fully fledged demons is more like it. Maker, that was just creepy.’

‘Where were they?’ Núria asked.

‘In the orphanage,’ Zevran replied. ‘Some of the people that were killed by the demons were still there … at least their spirits were. I assume they’re gone now, though.’

‘Núria, I know you want to stay another day, but I really think we should get back to Eamon to tell him about Loghain’s deal with the Tevinters,’ Alistair said. ‘And someone needs to talk to the nobles.’

Núria sighed and nodded slowly. ‘Yes. But first I have a meeting with a formidable fighter that I do not wish to postpone.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A few notes on this:  
> This tea doesn’t sound nearly as innocent as I first intended it. When I reread it after an interruption I realised that and changed course entirely. My Plan A was that what he’s giving her is simply willow bark tea. Then I realised there is more than one painkiller you can tea-ify, so there goes.  
> So for once the nearly-linguist is shining through. Concepts do inspire belief. The easiest way to explain it is to take something like unicorns and dragons.  
> We have words for these things, we know what a dragon looks like, and people do believe in them. Nowadays, mostly children do, but not so long ago, dragons, unicorns, and many similar creatures, were listed in books on zoology. (Until the real dragon slayer, Carl Linnaeus aka Carl von Linné, did away with that nonsense.) The same applies for more mundane things, as well, of course. Just think of how rumours travel, no matter how ridiculous they are.  
> Another fact is that there are peoples who do believe that names hold power. In western culture this seems to apply mostly to demons: If you know their names, you can summon them, bind them, etc. I figured it made sense for the qunari.)) 


	25. The Landsmeet

Alistair urged Núria to talk to the nobles before finding Isabela, and she grudgingly agreed to do so. She found Leliana, who still had the templar’s ring, and took her to the Gnawed Noble Tavern, where, fittingly enough, most of them were spending the time prior to the Landsmeet.

Leliana trudged off to a woman further in the back, while Núria stopped at two other people who were deep in conversation. Núria stepped close to them and cleared her throat. ‘Whoever you are, I … wait, I know you,’ one of them said. His demeanour had changed very quickly, he looked as though he was about to hug her. ‘My son described you in great detail. He tells me I owe you his life.’

Núria gave a dismissive gesture. ‘I wouldn’t have left anyone there. Not if there was a chance of saving them.’

The man didn’t even seem to hear her. ‘When I saw my poor boy’s legs … I only wish Howe still lived that I might tear him apart myself. Is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Yes, in fact there is one thing.’

The man rose, grabbed her by the shoulders and stared at her. ‘Name it, anything, it is yours.’

‘Speak against Loghain in the Landsmeet.’

The man nodded. ‘I will. You have all the support I can muster.’

‘Would you mind badly asking a few of the others for their support for us?’ Leliana asked, approaching them. ‘We need all the help we can get.’

‘Most certainly. You have my thanks.’

‘Alfstanna wasn’t happy to hear her brother is dead,’ Leliana said in an undertone. ‘I gave her his ring, and she thanked me, and I told her he had been poisoned. In a way, that’s even true. But it can’t hurt if the other one spreads the news of what you’ve done.’

Ϡ

It was only two hours before the Landsmeet would start, so Núria hurried to the Pearl to see Isabela. She knew the time would barely be enough to learn anything, but she wanted at least to meet the woman and tell her that she would return afterwards. She found Zevran with her, standing opposite to her at the bar with a glass of wine and a smile. He caught Núria’s eye when she entered and beckoned her. She approached, halting next to him. ‘You are Isabela, I take it,’ she said.

The woman looked friendly enough and had a mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘Indeed. And you are the fabled Grey Warden Núria Tabris. An excellent fighter, and a beautiful woman, I must say. You are exactly Zevran’s type.’ The Antivan laughed softly. ‘So, my old friend, what is it you will do for me in exchange for my lessons?’

‘Oh, I thought you promised me those lessons, a long time back, or am I wrong?’ he asked. ‘I declined, it’s not my style really, I like relying on my strength. You told me if ever I was of a mind, I should tell you.’

Isabela sighed. ‘And here I thought we could have a little fun, later? Reminiscing?’

‘Alas, what an offer, but again I have to decline,’ he said with a small wink at Núria.

‘Oh, did she manage to tame the tiger? Or both your tigers, as it were? The one in your chest, _and_ the one between your legs?’ Her eyes travelled unabashedly downwards, coming to rest at his crotch.

Zevran chuckled drily. ‘The one in my chest drowned in a pool of blood in Antiva. The other one turned out to be more of a mabari than a tiger.’

Isabela’s eyes snapped up. ‘Oh? Smelly and drooling?’

Zevran raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that what you remember? If you had said large and beautiful, or something similar, but no … Well, not even a good-bye kiss for you then.’

Núria grinned at their banter. She knew a number of people who would be horribly jealous, but she knew there was no need. ‘A mabari, Zev? Understands speech? Hard to imprint?’

Isabela snorted into her drink. ‘Oh, I think I like you, Warden,’ she said, wiping over her mouth.

Zevran reached blindly behind the bar and produced a towel he handed Isabela. ‘Perhaps closer to my train of thought,’ he said. ‘Hard to imprint and sometimes a little attention seeking. But perhaps we should change the topic … Sanga here appreciates a good show, why don’t you two get started, see how you get along?’

‘And you?’ Isabela asked him with a wry smile.

‘I’ve always liked to watch,’ he said, leaned back against the bar and took a small sip of his wine. ‘Also, as I remember, you play best in a game for two.’

Ϡ

Núria enjoyed herself greatly with Isabela. She _was_ a formidable fighter, and Núria had a growing suspicion that her lessons would not consist of many explanations. Actually, she never said a word as they engaged in a duel, Isabela simply repeated moves a couple of times until Núria managed to block them and began to use them herself, trying to work out when they would work. She never knew how much time had passed when Alistair stormed in, grabbing her and Zevran by the arm and dragging them along. ‘Are you both insane?’ he asked loudly. ‘The Landsmeet is starting right now, what were you thinking?’

‘I didn’t,’ Núria stammered, her heart racing.

‘That’s what I thought,’ Alistair said scathingly.

They arrived at the Landsmeet chamber in complete disarray. Wynne greeted them, looking harried, but she refrained on commenting on their lateness. They crashed through the door and were stopped by Ser Cauthrien and a few soldiers. ‘So finally you appear. And you too, Alistair. If you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric’s son, you would already be in the Landsmeet, now wouldn’t you? You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who assured you were born into freedom.’

‘Get out of my way,’ Núria snarled at her.

Cauthrien didn’t move. ‘Oh, no you will not desecrate the Landsmeet itself. The nobles will confirm my lord as regent, and we can finally put this to rest. Once you’re gone.’

‘Move aside or I will make you,’ Núria said, drawing her weapons.

Cauthrien mirrored her. ‘I will end the threat you pose to Ferelden. To arms, men!’

The ensuing fight was bitter and hard, and when finally they joined the Landsmeet, they were all panting and bloodied. Loghain was staring up at Eamon, asking ‘Who will pull the strings?’ His eyes snapped to Núria. ‘Ah, and here we have the puppeteer,’ he cried, pointing at them with one plate-gloved hand. ‘Tell us, Warden, how will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince? How much Fereldan blood does Orlesian gold buy these days?’

‘Orlesians?’ Núria asked. ‘Orlesians, my arse. We have a blight, remember? Or did you think those disgusting fellows coming from the deep roads are Orlesians in disguise?’

‘There are enough refugees in my bannorn to make it obvious the blight is real,’ a woman from the balcony said, and Núria recognised her as the one Leliana had spoken to in the Gnawed Noble.

‘The south is fallen, Loghain!’ another said. ‘Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?’

‘The blight is indeed real,’ Loghain replied. ‘But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it? They claim they alone can end the blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?’

‘You sold my people into slavery,’ Núria positively shouted, anger and hatred boiling in her veins. ‘You sold them to Tevinter to fund your war!’

‘What’s that?’ the father of the boy they had freed from Howe’s dungeon asked. ‘There is no slavery in Ferelden. Explain yourself.’

‘There is no saving the alienage,’ Loghain said. ‘Damage from the riots has yet to be repaired. There are bodies still rotting in their homes. It is not a place I would send my worst enemy. There is no chance of holding it if the blight comes here. Despite what you may think, Warden, I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets may be for the elves, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden.’

‘Ah,’ Núria said. ‘So the good of Ferelden is why you let Howe torture its citizens. I was wondering about that.’

‘Howe took my only son!’ the boy’s father shouted. ‘The things done to him … some are beyond any healer’s skill.’

‘Howe was a grown man responsible for his own actions,’ Loghain said with a hint of impatience in his voice. ‘He will answer to the Maker for his crimes, as must we all. But enough of this. I have a question for you, Warden: What have you done with my daughter?’

‘Oh, yes that,’ Núria replied. ‘Fascinating that you ask me that. I saved her from you, that’s what I did.’

‘You took my daughter – our queen – by force, killing her guards in the process,’ Loghain said, pacing towards her and staring down at her with a fierce, obsessed look – the look of a man who was actually convinced of what he was saying. ‘What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?’

Anora, who had been leaning against the wall, made a step forward. ‘I believe I can speak for myself,’ she said calmly. Unlike her father she did not raise her voice. ‘Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of River Dane. I would have already been killed, if not for this Grey Warden.’

Loghain’s tone and demeanour changed, he looked at Anora with infinite sadness in his eyes. ‘So the warden’s influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora?’ She simply shook her head, looking up at the nobles, and they started declaring their allegiances – and all but two stood with Núria, who felt herself growing by a couple of inches with every shout of support.

Zevran chuckled behind her. ‘Hah, you lose,’ he informed Loghain.

‘Traitors!’ Loghain screamed, his face contorted with madness. ‘Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?’

‘Call off your men and settle this honourably,’ Núria suggested, her anger somewhat decreased and replaced by a savage kind of contentment.

Loghain deflated visibly. ‘Then let us end this. I suppose we both knew it would come to this. When we first met at Ostagar, I would never have thought so. But Ostagar seems like it happened in another lifetime, to someone else. A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once. I wonder if it’s more of a compliment to you or me.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Enough. Let the Landsmeet declare the terms for the duel.’

‘It shall be fought according to tradition,’ the templar’s sister announced. ‘A test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome.’

‘Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?’ Loghain asked her.

Núria heard Zevran clearing his throat behind her, but she couldn’t let him do this. For a moment she considered letting Alistair stand against Loghain, but then she decided this was her fight. ‘I’ll do this myself.’ Some of the pain had returned after her workout with Isabela, but she would stand her ground. She heard very soft muttering behind her and felt the slight tingle of magic, and the pain was gone, and she felt as though she had rested instead of fighting.

Loghain had not noticed, nor did it seem anyone else had. ‘It is you or me the men will follow, so let us fight for it. Prepare yourself.’

People backed away from them almost at once. They circled each other, once, twice, before Loghain drew. A few gasps sounded, annoying Núria to no end. What had they expected he’d do? She mirrored him, and just when she had her sword and dagger readied, he charged at her. In her leather, Núria was faster than him and sidestepped him, trying to land a blow on him. Her sword clanged against his armour without having any effect. ‘Not fair,’ she muttered to herself.

Their dance continued for a while, neither doing any harm to the other. But Loghain, Núria noticed, was hindered by his plate-mail. His movements had not been as fast as hers to begin with, and with every minute he got slower. Núria could hear Zevran’s voice in her head. _If they’re in leather, move in and finish them quickly. If they’re in mail, move out and wait for them to slow down. And then hope they’ve never fought an assassin._ She braced herself, preparing herself for pain, for Loghain would certainly hit her now – it was part of the plan. Oh Maker, why could he not fight with a mace, this would be so much less terrible. She manoeuvred their fight carefully closer to the wall … She heard a soft gasp that might have come from Zevran … He would know what she intended to do. He had shown her and practised it with her after all. _Let it be a wall, or a tree, or another person, really, no matter. Something solid it must be, and not an ally, if you can help it._

Núria dodged Loghain’s attack, once again, spinning and keeping close to him, her left arm shielding her side, the sword in the right hand keeping her head covered. As she had expected, Loghain reacted at once. His blow cut right through her armour into her left arm, and instead of trying to remain on her feet, she let herself be carried to the right and downwards. A very short silent prayer passed through her thoughts, she had never done this save in her lessons with Zevran, never in a real fight, never after catching an actual blow with a sharp weapon … Núria rolled over her right shoulder, keeping her blades out of harm’s way, and landed as she should: She felt the impact of her feet colliding with the wall and used it to kick herself off it in a short horizontal jump. Her intention had been to land behind Loghain so she could grab and fell him, instead she crashed into his knees, knocking him in his stiff mail off-balance. She was on top of him in an instant, yanked his head back by his hair and placed her dagger under his left ear. Her arm screamed in protest, but she ignored it.

‘I yield,’ Loghain said, and she got off him. She saw Zevran swell with pride as she sheathed her weapons. Wynne moved towards her and healed the wound on her arm with a spell.

‘Loghain, you die now,’ Núria informed him. She had no intention to let him live, now she thought of it.

‘Wait!’ someone called, running towards them. Riordan stood between her and Loghain with a pleading look on his face. ‘There is another option! The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining.’

‘Er, no,’ Núria replied, regarding him as though he was insane.

‘There are too few of us. It’s not a matter of what we like. It’s a matter of what we must do. Our duty is to slay the archdemon. We aren’t judges. Kinslayers, blood mages, traitors, rebels, carta thugs, common bandits: Anyone with the skill and the mettle to take up the sword against the darkspawn is welcome among us. There are three of us in all of Ferelden. And there are … compelling reasons to have as many wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon.’

Núria opened her mouth to protest, but Anora cut across her. ‘The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not? If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Doesn’t that satisfy you?’

‘Absolutely not!’ Alistair said. ‘Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed. He hunted us down like animals. He tortured you! How can we simply forget that?’

‘No,’ Núria said. ‘Loghain will die, and not from the Joining.’

Anora stared at her. ‘You can’t do this. My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people.’

‘Anora, hush,’ Loghain said. ‘It’s over.’

‘Stop treating me like a child,’ she said with a slightly hysterical note to her voice. ‘This is serious.’

‘Daughters never grow up, Anora.’ Loghain _smiled_ at her, and for the first time, Núria saw in him the human he was rather than the enemy he had proven himself to be. ‘They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever.’

‘Father,’ she breathed, and suddenly, Núria hated what she had to do.

‘Just make it quick, Warden. I can face the Maker, knowing that Ferelden is in your hands.’

For a moment Núria considered letting Alistair kill Loghain, but then she remembered that Anora was supposed to marry him, and chances were that she would refuse if he had killed her father. So she drew her sword, and with one fluid movement separated Loghain’s head from his shoulders. Blood spurted from him, splattering Anora’s face and Núria’s armour. A soft wincing sound came from Anora, but when the matter came to taking the throne, her voice was quite firm. And, what was more, she and Alistair stuck to their agreement to rule together. ‘I believe this is what King Maric wanted,’ she said. ‘To see his blood tied to my father’s, to begin a new line of Fereldan kings.’

‘But I – I mean – I … I did swear an oath,’ Alistair stammered. ‘What I mean is, I’m – I’m all for founding a new line of kings, but … well, there’s the blight.’

Anora smiled, and Núria wondered if this idea hadn’t been better even than she had thought. ‘What the king is trying to say, my lords and ladies, is that he will be taking the field with his fellow Grey Warden to do battle with the archdemon,’ she substituted.

‘Uh, yes,’ he said with a grin. ‘That.’

‘Until then, I shall stay in Denerim, and rule in my husband’s absence, as I did for Cailan,’ Anora announced, and there was a slight note of relief to her voice. Núria decided she couldn’t blame her. Looking closely, Alistair did look a lot like Cailan … But perhaps she just imagined it, it wasn’t like she had seen much of Cailan at Ostagar. ‘But I trust Alistair shall reach a more heroic ending.’


	26. Of Gods And Birds

Word was that the horde was marching towards Redcliffe, so Eamon and his household left the day after the Landsmeet. Núria and the others waited for the messengers of their allies informing them that they were on the way there before they set out for Redcliffe themselves. In the meantime, Núria met with Isabela a few more times before her ship left Denerim again. Once she was cornered by Wynne, who was wearing a wistful look Núria had come to associate with trouble. ‘Can I have a moment of your time?’ the mage asked.

‘Of course, what can I do for you?’ Núria replied.

Wynne smiled. ‘I have watched you and Zevran for a time and … perhaps I was wrong. There seems to be something special between the two of you. His demeanour changes when he’s with you. There’s a tenderness to his gaze I’d never seen till now.’

Núria bit down a grin. ‘Are you trying to apologise for what you said?’

Wynne inclined her head. ‘I think I was too harsh with my judgement before, and I am sorry.’

‘Thank you, Wynne, I appreciate this. Say, would you do me a favour?’ She produced Zevran’s earring from her pocket and held it out to Wynne.

‘Ah, I think that you’d rather ask Leliana. I am very sure she would enjoy a sweet story like that and will oblige with all the delight only an Orlesian can muster. But I am glad you took it after all. Perhaps you should come to me afterwards, to heal the wound.’

Núria took her advice to heart and even managed not to comment on the fact that Wynne had obviously eavesdropped on them. As with Wynne, she didn’t say much, but wordlessly held out the earring to the Orlesian.

‘Oooh, that’s pretty! May I?’ Leliana asked. Carefully, Núria placed the earring in her hand. ‘That’s red gold and a tanzanite, something extremely rare. The socket is really firm, you won’t lose the stone in a lifetime, although it looks delicate at first sight. Where did you get it?’

‘Zevran,’ Núria said with a smile. ‘He … gave that to me in the alienage.’

Leliana raised an eyebrow. ‘This is worth a fortune,’ she said, holding it up against the light and squinting at it. ‘I wonder if I want to know how he came by it.’

Núria laughed. ‘You don’t. He’s had it for a long time before he gave it to me.’

Leliana lowered the small trinket and eyed it with a thoughtful gaze. ‘That suggests that it means something to him. Which makes it only more valuable. And Zev knows exactly what this is worth, make no mistake. You know what this says about you, or what you are for him?’

Núria nodded. ‘I know that, yes. That is why I wanted to ask you for help. The thing is, I can’t wear it.’

Leliana grinned at her. ‘Oh, certainly! Just let me … get a few things. Wait for me in the common room.’

Núria followed her request with a slightly queasy stomach. She shook herself mentally. She had certainly gone through worse pain in the past. Leliana returned with a bottle of some clear liquid, a needle, and a cork. ‘Right or left?’ Núria brushed the hair behind her left ear out of the way. Leliana dabbed some of the fluid onto her earlobe, poured more over the needle, and placed the cork against her skin. ‘Breathe in slowly now,’ she said, and Núria obeyed. Leliana moved the needle out of Núria’s vision, and a moment later she felt it going through her skin. It wasn’t as bad as she had expected. Leliana applied the liquid to Zevran’s earring, and with another small jab of pain, she replaced the needle with it. ‘There you go. Don’t take it out for a few months and try to keep it clean.’

‘Or I’ll just ask Wynne to heal this,’ Núria replied with a smile. ‘Thank you.’

Leliana waved her away. ‘Any time. Tell me what Zev said, will you?’

She met Zevran later in the evening in his room. ‘We’ll leave tomorrow,’ the Antivan informed her. ‘I say we’ll be faster than the army, but rather that than be late, no? What are you smirking at?’

Núria brushed her hair back. ‘Oh, nothing.’

Zevran beamed at her. ‘Nothing, is it?’ He stepped closer to admire her ear. ‘I take it you like it, then.’

Núria kissed him deeply, and Zevran’s arms snaked around her waist. ‘That is an understatement. And Wynne healed the wound, so you don’t have to be careful.’

Zevran put his hands to her face and turned her head gently this way and that. ‘Good. Then I can do this.’ He kissed his way up her neck and sucked in the earlobe. ‘Have you locked to door, _mi amora_?’

Núria pulled out of his embrace. ‘No, but I think we should,’ she said and did just that.

Ϡ

Zevran turned out to be right: They arrived a good deal before any army. Of course, a handful of people could travel more quickly, and they were used to making a quick pace on the road.

Redcliffe greeted them with noise and a very nervous young man, who informed them that the castle was surrounded by darkspawn and the villagers evacuated inside its walls. Núria told him firmly to stay where he was, while she and her companions stormed down into the village to look for any people trapped there. There was no sign of the archdemon … And no villagers either, only darkspawn soldiers and two ogres. The soldiers were a bad excuse, really, even by darkspawn measures they were weak.

‘Suicide squad,’ Alistair commented. ‘Perhaps that’s normal, but there’s not one more powerful creature of theirs.’

Núria grinned at him. ‘Are you complaining?’

Alistair looked at her. ‘No, but this just seems … wrong, don’t you think?’

She shrugged. ‘Let’s look out for an ambush then,’ she said, but Alistair didn’t look overly convinced. With the city taken back, they headed up to the villager and into the castle. In the yard they met more darkspawn, but like the ones in the village, the battle was easy, and Núria began to wonder if Alistair hadn’t been right. A messenger hurried towards them and told them that Riordan had overtaken the darkspawn somehow and was waiting for them inside with an urgent message. The two wardens exchanged a glance and ran after him, leaving the rest to follow at a slower pace.

Riordan didn’t even pause to greet them. ‘It’s a relief to see you unharmed. And you as well Alistair. Or should I say your Majesty?’

Alistair looked uncomfortable. ‘Err, no. No, I wouldn’t say that. Not yet anyway.’

‘The darkspawn that attacked Redcliffe were relatively few in number, I’m afraid. It was assumed the horde was marching in this direction … but that is not true.’

‘Riordan tells us that the bulk of the horde is, in fact, heading towards Denerim,’ Eamon continued. ‘They are perhaps two days away from the capital.’

‘What?’ Alistair made. ‘Are we sure about that? I mean … if that’s true …’

‘I ventured close enough to “listen in”, as it were,’ Riordan said with a pained look. ‘I am quite certain.’

‘So let’s leave again,’ Núria said urgently. ‘Now.’

‘To reach the archdemon, we need to break through the horde,’ Riordan replied. ‘To do that, we need the army. I see no other way.’

‘I will give the order at once, and will notify you the moment we march,’ Eamon said quickly.

Alistair nodded. ‘That would be appreciated.’

‘If you could meet me before you retire, we have Grey Warden business to discuss,’ Riordan said. ‘Both of you.’

‘Certainly,’ Núria said absently. She had hoped this would end soon, perhaps that night … Now she had more time to think about this and get scared. Oh, how she wanted this to be over. Núria learned that she had the same room as the first time, so she headed directly to Riordan.

Alistair was waiting before his door already. ‘There you are. Let’s go see what Riordan has to say.’

Núria grinned. It was horribly forced and Alistair likely knew it, but she had tried, at least. ‘Probably that we should take vials with us to get some of the archdemon’s blood. I wouldn’t know what else.’ She didn’t feel quite that confident, the look Riordan had worn didn’t bode well.

‘You are both here,’ Riordan greeted them. ‘Good. You are new to the Grey Wardens, and you may not have been told how an archdemon is slain. I need to know if that is so.’

‘You mean there’s more to it than just, say, chopping off its head?’ Alistair asked.

‘So it is true. Duncan had not yet told you. I had simply assumed … Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?’

‘I had thought “necessary” was an exaggeration,’ Núria admitted.

‘It is not an exaggeration, I’m afraid. The archdemon may be slain as any other darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough. The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest darkspawn and will be born anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal. But if the archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden … its essence travels into the Grey Warden instead.’

‘And … what happens to the Grey Warden?’ Núria asked him, dreading the answer.

Riordan rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the archdemon is destroyed … and so is the Grey Warden.’

‘Meaning … the Grey Warden who kills the archdemon … dies?’ Alistair asked unnecessarily.

Riordan nodded. ‘Yes. Without the archdemon, the blight ends. It is the only way.’

‘So it’s up to the three of us to kill this thing,’ Núria summed it up, wondering who it would be in the end.

‘In blights past, when the time came the eldest of the Grey Wardens would decide which amongst them would take the final blow,’ Riordan said. ‘If possible the final blow should be mine to make. I am the eldest, and the taint will not spare me much longer. But if I fail, the deed falls on you. The blight must be stopped now or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble. Remember that. But enough. There will be much to do tomorrow and little enough time to rest before it. I will let you return to your rooms.’

Núria’s head was swimming as she walked out, unheeding what Alistair was saying to Riordan. She had to find Zevran, to tell him this … She knew what he would say: that she should let Alistair die rather than her. But she couldn’t, he was king, and she couldn’t let him die for her, even if this were not the case. If Riordan failed … No, she _would_ not let Alistair. She walked into her room and nearly into Morrigan who was waiting there for her. ‘Don’t you have your own bedroom, or did you get lost?’ she asked, not in the mood to see anyone but Zevran, who she _had_ to see even though she would prefer to chew on that alone for a moment.

‘I decided it was time we spoke,’ Morrigan answered formally, and Núria snapped out of her thoughts. ‘I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole.’

‘How do you know?’ Núria asked, then gave a dismissive gesture. ‘Never mind. Are you saying no one has to die?’

Morrigan nodded at her. ‘Precisely. A ritual … performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night.’

‘Sounds suspicious.’ She remembered very vividly how Zevran had told her Morrigan had an agenda. Was that it? Had he been right after all? She was probably the only one who had considered Morrigan almost a friend. She shook herself mentally. What did it matter what the woman planned, if they could all survive?

‘Anything to do with magic stirs one’s fear, especially amongst those who do not understand it,’ Morrigan said, not unkindly. ‘What I speak of is old magic, a ritual from a time long before the Circle of Magi was ever created. Some would call it blood magic, but I think recent days have taught this is not always to be feared.’

Núria thought of Connor … and yet … the memory of Jowan destroying Isolde’s life, even if it had been for the greater good, was a horrible one. She wondered if this was worth it. She hadn’t had another option then. Now she had one, however painful it was. ‘I’m not going to use blood magic just to save myself.’

Morrigan looked somewhere between angry and hurt. ‘I have fought at your side and risked death for you, and more. Even if you do not trust me, know that I wish you no harm … not tomorrow, and certainly not now. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to offer, nothing more.’

Núria sighed. Morrigan sounded so sincere … she had never considered how far she trusted her, but now she would have to. ‘Speak then. But I promise nothing.’

‘What I propose is this. Convince Alistair to lay with me. Here, tonight. And from this ritual, a child shall be conceived within me. The child will bear the taint, and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process.’

Núria stared at her. ‘Yes, I cannot see how Alistair would say no. He so adores you …’

‘If you advise him to do this, he will. Consider the alternative. If Riordan fails, do you think Alistair will hesitate? The future king of Ferelden? He will die the hero and you will be overshadowed … just a Grey Warden who accompanied the king.’

‘Do you think that is really my concern? I’ll stop him! If I have to knock him unconscious, I will.’

Morrigan sighed. ‘I thought so. If you would rather, consider Zevran. What do you think he would advise, if he knew the life of his beloved was at risk? I think you know.’ Núria turned away, not wanting to think what Zevran would say. Morrigan walked around her, standing close to her and looking at her firmly. ‘Tell Alistair to save his own life as well as yours. Consider it carefully.’

‘Will the child be evil?’ Núria asked her, refusing to look back at the mage.

‘What I seek is the essence of the Old God that once was and not the dark forces that corrupted it. Some things are worth preserving in this world. Make of that what you will.’

Núria swallowed, finally meeting Morrigan’s eyes. ‘This would actually work, Morrigan? How do you know?’

‘This was what my mother intended when she sent me with you,’ the apostate answered. ‘She was the one who first gave me this ritual and told me of what I was meant to do. This does not surprise you does it? Did you not wonder why Flemeth saved your life, why she aided you? This is why. What is important is that I am offering this to you now. It will work, and it will save your life.’

‘One thing, Morrigan. One condition under which I will agree.’

Morrigan smiled at her. ‘I will not let her have my child, if that is what you fear. When the archdemon is slain, I will leave, and you may not follow me. Let me go and raise this child by myself. Flemeth will never see it.’

Núria bit her lip. ‘I will talk with Alistair.’ she said then.

‘I will wait for your return. I urge you to be convincing.’

For a moment Núria considered seeing Zevran first, but then she changed her mind. She didn’t need to hear what he would say, she knew it anyway. Alistair was not delighted about her suggestion, but he finally grudgingly agreed to do it. Núria just hoped his hatred for the woman would not make him unable. The thought that Morrigan would know how to help that problem crossed her mind, and she made a face at the pictures in her head. She needed to see Zevran … to hear she had not made a mistake. She entered his room without knocking and was swept into a tight embrace at once.

‘And here I thought you’d let me sleep alone,’ he said, kissing her softly. Núria disengaged from him and he frowned slightly. ‘What is wrong, is this about Riordan?’

Núria nodded, then shook her head. ‘Partly,’ she replied and told him of Morrigan’s offer.

Zevran eyed her carefully all the time and grabbed her hand when she was done. ‘Look here. I … am perhaps being selfish, but I am glad about your decision. Riordan isn’t that young, he may very well fall in battle before he so much as glimpses the archdemon. There is no guarantee that anyone of us survives, but if you hadn’t agreed to this, there would be a good chance that either you or Alistair have to die, no matter what.’

Núria shook her head. ‘I know. And yet … The sound of this scares me.’

Zevran chuckled. ‘It doesn’t scare me.’ He started singing softly. Núria stared at him. As far as she could tell, the song he was singing was Antivan, but she didn’t understand a word of it. It was a beautiful tune that sounded rather foreign, much more so than Leliana’s Antivan song had. She listened, closing her eyes, until he was done. Zevran put his arms around her and stared into her eyes only inches away. ‘The chantry puts much effort into wiping these songs and tales out, but of course the people remember them,’ he told her, his breath whispering over her skin, his voice so very quiet. ‘Such a one is this. In your language it would be called the Song of the Birds. It speaks of an Old God reborn from a kestrel. There is nothing about sex rituals and such things in this perfectly innocent song, but perhaps Morrigan or her mother knew the legend behind it and are trying to make it come true. If they manage, there is nothing to be feared. The child is going to be a harbinger of peace from the darkspawn. For good.’

Núria leaned her head against Zevran’s chest, grateful for the comfort he gave her. Her arms were wrapped around him, her hands joined at the small of his back. ‘I wonder how that should be. Do you think this will happen?’

Zevran shrugged. ‘I do not know any more than you. Only that if Morrigan says you will not die if you slay the archdemon, it will probably be true. She may not be very much of a selfless person, but I do not think she is cruel enough to raise false hopes on purpose. And now I think we should get some sleep. Who knows how much of that we’ll get later?’ His hands wandered lower to press her hips against his, hinting that sleep was not what he had in mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Zevran’s song, of course, has nothing to do with a kestrel, which is about one of the few birds not mentioned in it. El cant dels ocells is a Catalan folk song, a carol, as it were. This is one of the few things I had planned from the beginning.  
> This song, by the way, doesn’t sound like your average carol. It’s beautiful, slow, and slightly dark, and I really like it.  
> And yes, I am very aware that Spanish and Catalan are not the same language; I speak neither, by the way. Leliana’s song was some old Spanish variety, this isn’t, but for my Austrian ears it sounds very similar, so I lumped it together - although Catalan pronunciation is waaaay more difficult, I had to look into that a while ago for my choir and although I convinced them I had worked it out I still don’t get it, really.  
> The name Núria, accent and all, is actually Catalan, by the way. So you see originally my Antivan is Catalan rather than Spanish, but I couldn’t resist the Spanish bawdy song.))


	27. Our Solemn Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Our Solemn Hour is another Within Temptation song.))

The time Núria spent waiting for the army seemed like a lifetime, although it could not have been more than a week. They set out again, this time staying with them rather than going ahead, and the slow travel through a country that grew more and more terrible with every day was more than depressing. It became clear that they had been led astray – whether by chance or on purpose, she wouldn’t have dared to guess. The further they journeyed into the east, the more clearly it was visible that something horrible had happened.

At first, the signs were few, and they weren’t too dreadful. A few dead small animals along the roads, burnt houses, trails leading into fields to stop without a sign of what had happened to those that had made them. Then, closer to Denerim, there were two human bodies, one of an old man, one of a child. There was no sign that they had been killed. Núria assumed they couldn’t follow the others that were fleeing and had died somehow – from hunger or exhaustion.

Within shouting range of Denerim, they stopped. Alistair turned to face his army. ‘Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde,’ he yelled, loud enough to be heard even far back. Núria looked at the army. Yes, they were many, but would it be enough? ‘The woman you see beside me is an elf, raised to the ranks of the Grey Wardens. And never a more glorious Grey Warden has there been!’ Núria went crimson. She had been the leader of a small group, but she was not the commander of their army. That was Alistair, and she was more than happy about that. ‘She has survived despite the odds, and without her, none of us would be here.’

‘He has the truth of it,’ Zevran whispered to her over the cheering crowd behind them. ‘Don’t look like you want to hide. You’re marvellous, so let him say so.’

Riordan, who had run off to look at the situation, came back to them. ‘They’re all over the place. We must open a way into the capital. Meet back with me when this is done.’ They moved on, over scorched ground under a gloomy sky that seemed to know there was something horrible going on out of its reach.

The formerly tightly knitted group scattered to fight the darkspawn that seemed to be everywhere. They were weak, like the ones in Redcliffe had been, but three times as many at least, and from all directions more seemed to come. Núria ran from one place to the other, worried about all those she could not see, constantly torn between fear and relief whenever she found one of her companions still standing. After what seemed a lifetime, the air cleared, and she ran back to where they had started, just to be rejoined by the others – all of them! Oh, thank the Maker! – including Riordan. ‘You’ve managed to fight to the gates,’ the Warden said, wiping blood from his face. ‘We’re doing better than I hoped.’

‘That will change quickly,’ Sten commented.

‘What are we to do now, Riordan?’ Wynne asked carefully. ‘You have a plan, I assume?’

‘The army will not last long, so we’ll need to move quickly to reach the archdemon,’ Riordan replied, looking at Núria. ‘I suggest taking Alistair and no more than two others with you into the city. Anyone you don’t bring with you can remain here to prevent more darkspawn from entering Denerim on our trails. I will try and lure the dragon on top of Fort Drakon. You must get there in case I fail to finish it.’

‘You want to draw the archdemon’s attention?’ Alistair asked.

‘We have little choice, though I warn you that as soon as we engage the beast it will call all its generals to help it. I can sense two generals in Denerim. You may wish to seek them out before going to Fort Drakon. I’m sure that if we did slay those generals, it would stop the darkspawn in the city from doing a lot of harm. It may also waste resources trying to find them. The decision is up to you.’

‘I’m ready,’ Núria said. ‘To be on the safe side, Alistair will be with me. Besides … Wynne, do you feel up to this?’

The elderly mage smiled at her. ‘Of course I do. In the end, this was the point of it all, wasn’t it?’

Núria looked at the others, wondering if asking anyone to come with her wasn’t as good as a death sentence. They all seemed eager enough. ‘Sten, you take the lead of those I leave at the gates.’ The qunari nodded at her and stood straight. ‘Morrigan, in your delicate condition I suppose you’d better stay outside.’

The apostate laughed softly. ‘You know that I would see this to the end, I take it, but so be it. Then this is where we part ways. I … truly never believed I would find a friend on this journey when I first set out with you, but I would gladly consider you such. Go slay your archdemon. Live gloriously, my friend.’

‘Thank you for everything, Morrigan,’ Núria said with a vague smile, and unable to stop herself she hugged her. ‘And keep the others safe while you’re here,’ she added, feeling Morrigan awkwardly patting her back. She sighed and let go of the other woman. ‘Zev, you asked me not to lock you into a closet when it comes to this, so here it is. Do you want to come with me?’

‘That’s what they call a rhetorical question,’ Alistair commented with a grin.

‘Indeed,’ Zevran said. ‘To tell the truth, I didn’t think you’d let me come, but this is how it should be.’ He took a deep breath and looked at her. ‘If this should be the last we speak, I want you to know assassinating you was the luckiest thing that could have happened to me.’

Núria almost regretted her choice at his words. Her heart bled as she imagined that he could very well die in the battle. The words came to her mouth before she could stop them. ‘I love you, Zev. I hope you know that.’

Zevran stiffened. ‘Yes,’ he said, looking to the ground somewhere near her feet. ‘Yes, I … I know that.’

Núria gave a soft laugh that could as well have been a sob when he turned away to look at the gate. She shook herself, wondering what she had expected. ‘Sten, you look after them,’ she said after a moment, stepping away from those that would stay before the city. She stopped. ‘And look after yourselves. All of you.’ Ivanhoe trotted towards Núria and winced. ‘No, you can’t. You help Sten, right? Keep an eye on them all, I know you can do that. Riordan … I wish you luck.’

‘And I you,’ he replied. ‘Off you go. Try and find those generals quickly and then meet back with me on top of Fort Drakon. I will round up the commanders of our allies to join me there. Keep safe.’

Ϡ

For once it was Alistair who was leading them. The six months of seniority he had over Núria clearly helped him to sense a general in all the darkspawn that littered the city. His steps led to the market district, but it took a while before Núria realised where they were. No one could be alive here. Houses had broken down, carts were turned over, and Ignacio’s nug cage was bent as though a gigantic fist had grabbed and crushed it. Alistair’s arm caught her around the waist. He shook his head and pointed around a corner. ‘Ogre.’

‘No, not one,’ Wynne whispered. ‘This place is full of them.’

Núria remembered the last time they had tried to fight more than one of those creatures vividly. Zevran seemed unperturbed by the idea, but she was too aware that he had survived that encounter by pure luck to ignore the thought. ‘Alistair, is the general here?’ she asked, and he nodded. ‘How far apart do they stand, Wynne?’

‘Far enough. Further apart than the two before Bownammar.’

‘Perhaps I should try and lure them here separately,’ Zevran suggested. ‘I think I might have an easier time at that than a mage.’

Núria shook her head. ‘I don’t want heroics from any of you. We all have to get to Fort Drakon if we want to stand any chance against the archdemon. I didn’t pick any of you for random reasons but because you’re the best I have.’

‘No heroics, is it?’ Zevran asked with a grin. ‘So you want to talk your way past the ogres to the generals? Or do you intend to wait here until they get bored and leave?’

Alistair huffed. ‘Right. If anyone lures them here, that will be I. Wynne, you have my back?’

‘Always,’ she said, and Alistair walked forwards, shield and sword readied in his hands. The first ogre knocked him right back to where the rest of them were waiting. Wynne fired a spell against the wall, from where it bounced off and caught the creature in mid-jump, knocking it off-balance.

Alistair scrambled back up to his feet, emitting curses he had certainly not learned in the chantry. He left his shield lying where it was and used his sword with both hands to sever the ogre’s head from its shoulders. ‘So,’ he said conversationally, ‘just how often are we going to do this now?’

Núria had half a mind of counting so she could tell him later, but she quickly lost track. Alistair managed to draw the attention of single ogres rather than the entire market district, but then they were wrapped into smoke in mid-combat. She backed away, hoping that the darkness hindered the darkspawn as much as them. ‘Wynne, can you do something about this?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t, get out of that!’ the mage shouted.

‘No, we were planning to stay in there, it was so nice and impossible to hit anything,’ Zevran commented.

‘Put a sock in it,’ Alistair said forcefully, trying to ward off an ogre while walking backwards. ‘That’s the general, get him, and quickly.’

Núria froze and stared. In time she had learned distinguishing the various kinds of darkspawn – not that she could name them, but she had her suspicions as to their origins. So she deduced that this was a corrupted human’s offspring she was facing: one of those that knew spells, which was rare, but more horrible than any of those she had seen before. Lightning tingled around the tall creature’s hands, slowly reaching towards them, the movement of the bluebell light accelerating constantly, until it positively crashed into them. Under the impact of the mighty spell she nearly dropped her weapons, but she clung to them desperately, rushing forwards beside Zevran.

The general couldn’t even be bothered to back away. Zevran gave a yell of frustration as he was pulled up into the air, unable to move. His head was yanked back by an invisible force, but then a soft light enveloped him. Núria spun and saw Wynne, face contorted in concentration, her eyes on Zevran alone, never minding Alistair who was getting along well enough, forcing her spell to keep the assassin safe from whatever grip the general had him in. Núria tore herself from where she stood, hoping she could at least distract the general enough to make him let Zevran go before the two mages ripped him apart in their struggle. It didn’t take more than a few seconds until Alistair joined her, and a few moments later Zevran appeared behind the general out of nowhere, it seemed, and sank his dagger between its ribs. ‘You’d think I’m the Grey Warden here, the way they always attack me,’ he said when the darkspawn fell. ‘Let’s hope it’s the same with the archdemon. If it too focusses on me, perhaps you can finish it even before it does me.’

Núria glared at him. ‘Don’t say that. Where’s the second general?’

‘South,’ Alistair said simply, to her horror walking to the alienage.

‘Not there!’

‘Exactly there, I’m afraid. Let’s help them, come on.’

Ϡ

There was no darkspawn in the alienage, but the way a small group of elves was staring at the wooden gate at the other side of their small district, it was only a matter of time. ‘Shianni,’ Núria shouted, running towards her at full speed.

Shianni turned and stared at her before pulling her into a tight hug. ‘Núrie! Oh, am I glad to see you. We’re under attack. There’s a large group of darkspawn approaching and the gates won’t hold. We need your help.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Núria said. ‘We’ll get them, you get away and keep safe.’

‘No. This is my home as much as it is yours. If you’re going to fight, then I will too.’

Núria understood her only too well. ‘Defend your homes, then, if we cannot ward them all off. But stay away from the gate.’

‘Yes! We’ll do that.’

The moment Shianni backed away from the gates to their home, the entire place seemed to shake. Alistair ran forwards in alarm, Núria at his heels. An ogre stood at the gate, slamming its huge fists into the wood. Núria ran up a short flight of stairs onto a small balcony, from where she could look behind it. ‘Get back!’ she shouted down to Alistair. ‘They’re too many to count, but only one ogre. The rest seem to be just soldiers. And I see the general.’ She jumped down, landing gracefully, and they ran back to wait around the corner. ‘We cannot fight them all at once,’ Núria continued. ‘Alistair, get the ogre here first.’

Without a word, the templar ran forwards again. The gate broke with a loud crashing sound, and Alistair turned in mid-run, racing back to Núria and managing to turn and face the ogre before it had reached him. They were getting better at fighting ogres, Núria thought. They managed to defeat it quickly, then they approached the broken gate carefully. ‘There’s no way they’re not going to come at us all together,’ Alistair whispered. ‘But if we do not cross the gate, they will have a harder time surrounding us. Where did you see that general?’

‘At the far back of the group, I’m afraid,’ Núria replied equally softly. ‘As soon as he joins the fray, we have to get past the gate and to him, or he’ll kill us. Wynne, you go up where I was before. Give us a warning when the general attacks. We have to kill as many as quickly as we can. Let’s get them … _Now!_ ’

Núria had hoped she would be able to keep an eye on Alistair and Zevran, but she was surrounded so quickly she had no way of seeing. She felt the prickling of magic close by and trusted it was friendly. She wondered briefly if she would be able to hear Wynne at all, but then she had to ward off enemies left right and centre and had no time to dwell on it.

It felt like they were standing there, in the middle of a tide of foes, for a lifetime, when a shout rang over the noise of combat. ‘Get the general!’ Wynne yelled, sounding so badly out of breath that Núria couldn’t stop herself from looking up at where she was.

To her horror, the mage was under attack of three genlocks, sporting a bleeding wound on her forehead, and leaning on her staff. For a moment Núria was torn between the urge to help her and to get to the general. Her worry got the better of her, and she ran back through the gate to help Wynne.

At the foot of the flight of stairs there lay more corpses, and there was no one but Wynne who could possibly have killed them. Núria quickly cut down the ones that remained and looked closely at the mage. ‘Are you all right?’

Wynne waved her away. ‘Yes, never mind me, get the general!’

Núria glanced to where Alistair slammed his shield into the general’s head. ‘My guess is, they handled him nicely, didn’t they? Let’s continue in that direction, it’s the fastest way to get to the palace district and Fort Drakon.’ Alistair and Zevran were both out of breath, and both of them received a healing spell from Wynne once she reached them. They continued across a bridge, and they had only just set foot to the firm ground on the far side when the archdemon flew over it, breathing blue flames to the floor only inches above it. With a loud rumbling sound, a crack formed under the fire, and the bridge crumbled, cutting off the way back. They stared after the dragon until it disappeared into the sky.


	28. Coming Home

They fought their way through the palace district to Fort Drakon quickly, knowing that it all depended on Riordan now. If he failed to make the archdemon land there, they might not get another chance to face it. How he intended to do that was anyone’s guess.

The floor of Fort Drakon was littered with the bodies of the guards. Although Núria’s memories how they had treated her when she was held captive there were still vivid, she almost pitied them. Amongst the dead they found at least one mage and a warrior with a Redcliffe uniform. Apparently Riordan had at least found the leaders of their allies. They could only hope that said allies were not all lying dead amongst guards and darkspawn.

When finally they stood before the door leading out onto the roof, Núria felt fear tugging at her. She exchanged a glance with Alistair, who looked rather pale too. ‘Perhaps Riordan managed to slay the beast already,’ the templar suggested carefully, but a loud roar sounded outside, and the entire tower seemed to shake. For a moment Núria thought it might crumble under whatever force had hit it, but then it stilled, and sounds of fighting could be heard from outside. ‘Or not,’ Alistair muttered, opening the door with a shaking hand.

The archdemon was gigantic, and it was wounded. Its right wing was torn and dark blood dripped to the floor from it. Soldiers were on the rooftop, representatives of their allies as well as a few of the guards. To their credit, they were brave, but that didn’t make them invulnerable. The creature was fierce with pain, lashing at the humans around it with its head and tail and legs, breathing fire into another group and scorching them all to black corpses. ‘Whatever it costs, it can’t get away from here,’ Alistair said hoarsely, and Núria nodded. The templar ran towards it, Wynne’s eyes found Irving and she went to fight at his side.

Núria set out after Alistair, but Zevran caught her by the arm and pointed to a platform on the tower. ‘There! Ballista!’

Without a word, Núria changed direction and ran there instead. ‘Can you work with those things?’

Zevran nodded. He used a handle to point the huge weapon at the archdemon and launched at bolt at it. ‘There are more, I bet. Get me more bolts!’ Gladly, Núria did as she was told. Zevran handled the huge weapon as well as he would a sword, while she brought him bolts. Suddenly, the dragon gave a huge roar and took to the air. Its injury didn’t let it fly far, though, and it was forced to land again – and well out of their reach. Irving continued hurling his magic at the beast, but that would certainly not be enough to slay it. What was more, darkspawn pushed onto the tower, defending their leader fervently.

Núria and Zevran joined Alistair where the archdemon had been before, and they set to stem the tide of their enemies. Wynne and Lanaya, Zathrian’s successor, were standing back to back, helping them, the former looking everywhere at once it seemed to help anyone who needed her. She looked as though she was close to collapsing but remained on her feet, hurling spell after spell at the darkspawn and her allies if they required healing. She had not even looked so wild when fighting her demon in the Circle Tower.

Eamon skidded to a halt beside them, helping cutting a path into the seemingly endless supply of genlocks. ‘How many of those things can they have?’

‘I think I prefer not to know that,’ Alistair replied. ‘Eamon, there are ballistae, when this thing comes back, you and Kardol use those.’

‘Kardol is actually here?’ Núria asked loudly, and Alistair pointed to the far side. The dwarven warrior alone fought as many as they did together, but he didn’t seem to be in any difficulty. Perhaps, Núria wondered, it had to do with the fact that he and his followers had already had their funerals, as it was custom to those that left to try and push the front back in the deep roads. Eamon darted over to him to help, and Núria admired his stamina. She felt her movements slowing, but the arl didn’t show any sign of weariness at all.

Only when all the darkspawn were killed, the archdemon returned to fight them. ‘You get back to your ballista, it’s hurt already, keep out of harm’s way … just in case.’ Alistair pushed her away almost roughly. Núria left her sword in the last genlock she had slain to keep the last few surviving darkspawn on the tower from moving to the ballista. While Zevran armed it once more, Núria scanned the place for Wynne … She was still standing beside Lanaya, but something was wrong with the keeper. She was leaning on Wynne, then she broke to the ground.

‘Get out of the way!’ Zevran shouted, and she took the fastest way out of his aim: downwards. She thought she felt the sharp stream of air as the bolt passed over her. She scrambled out under the line of fire and got to her feet, ready to ward off anything that might try and reach Zevran. But her eyes stopped at the archdemon. Zevran’s last bolt stuck in its throat, and it thrashed its head from one side to the other, trying to get rid of it. Zevran abandoned his place by the ballista and came to stand next to Núria. ‘Can’t hold still, can it?’

‘What does it matter?’ Núria asked, feeling mad laughter rising deep within her. ‘Look, it’s dying!’

That seemed to be true, but it didn’t make the dragon less dangerous. In its wild movements it caught Alistair in the gut, sending him skidding over the ground to where they were standing. The templar didn’t even bother to get to his feet immediately and watched the creature’s movements slowing. When it fell, Núria forced herself out of her reverie. Without another glance at anyone but her quarry she started running, taking a detour to where she knew her sword was. Riordan’s words rang in her head. _Should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough._ She got to the genlock in question and pulled her weapon free. _But if the archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden, its essence travels into the Grey Warden instead._ Oh Maker, what if Morrigan had been wrong?

Ϡ

Alistair scrambled to his feet and watched in silent admiration, also thinking of Morrigan’s ritual, though with considerable disgust, and hoping desperately that she hadn’t actually played some devious game to fool them. As Núria sank her blade into the archdemon’s head, a flash of light shot into the sky, engulfing her. Her knees buckled, but her hands still clutched the blade. Zevran made a desperate step forwards, but Alistair reached for him. ‘You can’t help her,’ he yelled over the rushing noise coming from Núria and the dragon, which he knew was not yet dead, but very nearly. A scream bubbled from the small form that seemed oh so fragile beside the archdemon, and Zevran tried to yank himself free frantically. Alistair put his arms around the slighter man’s chest and held him firmly, feeling horribly cruel and helpless as the assassin struggled madly to get away. Then, an explosion of light erupted, knocking them both backwards. The wind was knocked out of Alistair’s lungs as he landed on his back with Zevran on top of him, and for a moment he fought for consciousness.

When he got back to his feet, Zevran was kneeling beside Núria, her head in his lap. Alistair didn’t even bother approaching but went to rip Wynne from Lanaya. The mage came running anyway as soon as she saw the look on Alistair’s face and skidded to a halt beside the two elves. ‘Morrigan said she would be safe,’ Zevran told her in a rough voice. His face was empty, whether or not he was worried was not to be seen by someone who hadn’t learned to read him, but Alistair knew him well enough by now to see beneath the façade.

Wynne knelt at Núria’s side and placed her hand on her forehead, closing her eyes. ‘She is alive. Barely, but still. We have to get her away from here. Alistair, could you …’

‘No,’ Zevran said firmly. He placed her head gently on the ground before he gathered her in his arms. Wynne led the way down and out of Fort Drakon, back through the broken city and to Eamon’s estate.

Ϡ

Núria opened her eyes on a hard floor that was swaying alarmingly. She blinked the fog away and looked around to find herself in a stone cabin. Why it was swaying she couldn’t guess. Apprehensively, she stepped out and onto the deck of a ship. The cabin, it turned out, wasn’t made of stone at all, but of dark, slightly withered wood. But what was she doing on a ship, and, what was more, why was she entirely alone there?

Núria closed her eyes to try to remember how she had got here. She recalled that they had gone to Redcliffe. But no, they had left again, she was supposed to be fighting the archdemon, what was she doing on a ship?

She shook her head and glanced ahead. They were reaching a dock in a forest. There was someone standing there, waiting, waving at her. It was an elf in a robe … The ship landed and Núria left it quickly, feeling slightly sick.

The man strode towards her, smiling … She recognised him as Zathrian, and it struck her that Zathrian had never smiled. Not once. ‘You do not belong here,’ he said. ‘You belong with her.’

‘Her?’ Núria asked in slight confusion … They were alone. Or weren’t they?

‘Me,’ a gentle voice told her. ‘You belong with me for now.’ She turned and looked at Wynne, who was holding out her hand, while Zathrian was backing away. ‘It is your choice with whom to go, but to leave would be too early. Return with me. Zevran is waiting for you.’

‘How do I return?’ Núria asked, wondering if she had to get back onto the ship.

‘Just take my hand, child. I’ll guide you.’

‘Farewell, Grey Warden,’ Zathrian said from a few steps away, and after a moment, Núria reached for Wynne.

‘I almost feared I couldn’t wake you,’ Wynne said, suddenly sounding different, perhaps less … vague. ‘No, don’t get up just yet. Rest. You deserve that. You have been unconscious for three days.’

Núria didn’t listen. She pushed herself onto her elbows and blinked the dizziness away. ‘Is it dead?’ she asked, her voice sounding unfamiliarly hoarse.

‘Yes, yes it’s dead. By your hand, too, in case you don’t remember.’

‘What about the others?’ Núria asked, searching the room. It was hers, the one she had stayed in. ‘Did anyone …’

‘Riordan,’ Wynne answered at once. ‘Irving found him a few hours ago, he must have managed to … mount the archdemon somehow, but it threw him off. He fell from a great height and shattered every bone in his body. Everyone else is fine … More or less. Oghren has a broken leg, but that’s nothing that cannot be healed. Alistair has a concussion, but don’t worry, we’re fine. Leliana said Morrigan left when she saw the light coming from the tower, she turned into a bird and flew into the direction where it came from. We believe she was checking if you were fine, Alistair thinks she just wanted to make sure she wasn’t leaving too early for her own good. Sten is all for chasing her, but I managed to persuade him to let her be.’

Núria smiled. ‘Let her be? She’s an apostate, and my guess is also a maleficar. You don’t feel you have to put her down?’

Wynne sighed. ‘From what Zevran told me, she’s the only reason you survived what you did, so no, I do not think she must be punished.’

A thought struck Núria and she sat up quickly. ‘Jowan! I must talk to Irving!’

Wynne pushed Núria onto her back. ‘Irving has already left for the Circle Tower. And Jowan is not your responsibility.’

‘I am such a fool. I wanted to help him, and all the time I could, only I didn’t see it. If Morrigan can live in peace, why not he?’

‘Because Morrigan used her magic to save you. Jowan poisoned Eamon and nearly got all of Redcliffe killed. Drink that, it will calm you.’

‘He didn’t want that,’ Núria said stubbornly, accepting Wynne’s potion all the same. ‘I should never have let them have him. I should have conscripted him! I could have!’

Wynne nodded slowly. ‘You could have, but I really think that Jowan was a very dangerous man. He may or may not have learned from what he did, and to recruit him into the Grey Wardens would have been an even greater risk than allowing Loghain to join. Now rest, tomorrow is Alistair and Anora’s coronation. You do not want to miss that, do you?’

‘I want to see Zev,’ Núria replied.

‘I’ll send him over,’ Wynne promised. ‘Knowing him, he’ll be with you when you wake up.’

Ϡ

Indeed, Zevran’s face was the first thing Núria saw when the night was over. ‘Hello there, Hero of Ferelden,’ he said softly, taking her hand. ‘You got me worried, do you know that?’

Núria smiled vaguely and squeezed the hand holding hers slightly. ‘Did I sleep past the coronation?’

‘Oh, no, but it will begin in two hours. I would have had to wake you up soon. There’s a set of fresh armour, or a fancy dress, you can choose which you prefer. Alistair has a surprise for you, so you really should come down.’ Núria sat up and glanced at the small table and the chair beside it. The armour looked Dalish, and Núria assumed it was a gift from Lanaya. The dress was very beautiful, and it would fit her, but it felt wrong to wear it, somehow. She managed to get out of bed without swaying and walked over to the table. ‘Should I turn away?’ Zevran asked. ‘Ah, but no, I’ll keep an eye on you, just in case you need a hand.’

Núria laughed softly. ‘Wait until later with your hands,’ she told him, dressing effectively. ‘Otherwise I’ll never make it down to the coronation. I am exhausted enough as is.’

Zevran stepped up to her when she was done and put his arms around her. ‘Wynne said it was a close call,’ he said, his face hidden in her loose hair. ‘Núria, I hope you know how much it would hurt me to lose you.’

Núria manoeuvred out of Zevran’s embrace and took his face into her hands. ‘Yes, my love.’ This time he didn’t turn away at the endearment but kissed her, gently and sweetly enough to make up for the words he couldn’t utter.

The coronation ceremony was a rather pompous affair, and Núria half wished she could have woken up after it. This wasn’t her world, the nobles in their silk, their obvious astonishment that an elf of all people could have saved them, all this made her uncomfortable and slightly angry. She got a short reprieve when Alistair rushed in, and spotting her, abandoned whatever he had planned to do to run towards her and embrace her fiercely. Finally all went quiet when Alistair and Anora walked past them all to a Chantry sister, who gave them her blessings and placed the good of Ferelden in their hands with her words.

Alistair turned to face the people before him, and he didn’t look unhappy. ‘My friends, we are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory,’ he said, and Núria couldn’t help smiling. He didn’t want to be in the middle, so he shifted to the side. Knowing him, she would be replacing him as the centre of attention. Well, this would probably be the last time he could do this to her. ‘Of those who stood against the darkspawn in Denerim, there is one in particular who deserves commendation. The one who led the final charge against the archdemon remains with us still, an inspiration to all she saved that day.’ His voice was firm, and he sounded as though he was getting used to his role as a leader. His eyes found her and rested on her face as he continued. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the Hero of Ferelden, the first Grey Warden to defeat the blight since Garahel four centuries ago.’ She sighed and moved over to him, coming to a halt before the templar and looking up into his face with a small smile. ‘My friend, it is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more. I think it only appropriate that I return the favour. Is there any boon that you might request of Ferelden’s king? If it is within my power, I will grant it.’

Núria almost laughed. That was easy to answer. ‘I wish to see my people treated fairly, for once,’ she said firmly and loud enough to be heard by everyone present.

Alistair nodded at her. ‘An excellent idea. What would you say to becoming the new bann of the alienage … a voice for the elves in the Landsmeet.’

Núria felt herself go red and shook her head at once. ‘I … oh dear, no! Shianni! Ask Shianni, she’ll love that.’

Alistair grinned at her, and she wondered if he had known she would decline. ‘Then we shall have to track her down and give her the news. The alienage will hereby have its own ruler and its own laws. Hopefully, this is only the beginning. Let it also be known that the arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens. There they can rebuild, following the example of those who went before them.’ He continued more quietly, so that only those standing close by would hear. ‘What are your plans? Will you remain with them?’

Núria nodded at once. ‘The darkspawn are still a threat. The Grey Wardens need me.’

‘That they do. I’m glad one of us is staying with them, at least. So, it seems all of Ferelden has come here to see its hero. You should make at least a brief appearance before they storm the gate.’

Núria sighed and rolled her eyes, but she thought she could as well stick her head out and leave after letting them gawk at her for a few moments. As she moved towards the double door, Zevran took her aside. ‘What happens now? You’ll leave with the Grey Wardens, and I wonder where I fit into this.’

‘There is nothing you don’t fit into, Zev, at least not where my plans are concerned,’ Núria told him.

His face lit up with a smile. ‘So I can remain with you? I’ve grown fond of you, you see. Sad, but true.’

Núria laughed softly. ‘I’d love for you to stay. With me.’

Zevran beamed at her. ‘Now that’s a request I would be hard-pressed to refuse. So I won’t. So even if the Crows will come for me again, let them. It will only add to the fun, no?’

‘Do you think they’ll still be after you?’

‘Eventually. With Taliesen dead it might take them time to figure out what has happened. But they’re like the tides … predictable.’ He sighed. ‘Well, we’ll talk later, there’s a crowd waiting for you out there, it seems. So go on and get paraded about. It is fun to watch. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you and make sure no one gets a clear shot. Not without paying me a great deal of coin, anyhow.’ Núria laughed and shook her head as she continued towards the door. Zevran would sooner cut off his own arm than let anyone hurt her, that much was certain.

 

_Epilogue_

_Zevran opened his eyes when the sunbeams stung into them through their lids. With a soft smile on his face he turned to his side to look at his Núria, but she was up already. Well, judging from the brightness it was only some two hours before noon, and she was an early riser. He stretched and glanced at the door with a slight frown. It was not entirely closed, so either she had left very hastily, or someone had been here in her absence. Instinctively, he pulled back her blanket. Underneath it, there was a dagger._ His _dagger, the one he had been given the day he had become a full member of the Crows. He had kept it, but certainly not in bed. A note stuck at its end, and Zevran retrieved it with a sense of foreboding._

_It was short, but it took him a long while to read it. When he was done, he quickly packed his belongings, including the note. He scribbled a few words onto another piece of paper and left it for Núria to find. After a moment, he took it again, ripped it in half and wrote a new one. His heart broke at what he had to do, but everything else, including the truth, would be insane._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((So that’s it for the moment.  
> The chapter heading here is an ASP song, mostly chosen as a heading for the epilogue, as it were. I thank all of you for reading and reviewing!))


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